


Mary Sue Redeemed

by Slytherkins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Love Triangles, M/M, Mary Sue, Multi, Parselmouths, Psychic Abilities, Rivalry, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Threesome - F/M/M, Tropes, don't get attached to this OFC, famous daddies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-03-09 02:23:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18907573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherkins/pseuds/Slytherkins
Summary: When a mysterious new student arrives at Hogwarts, Harry and Draco are both instantly smitten. While she seems at a glance to be everything either of them every wanted, secrecy surrounds the girl...and danger. Each are convinced she returns their affections. Saryn, however, seems disinclined to choose between them. Can they share her? Or should they both look elsewhere? Perhaps, even, in each other?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this ages and aaaaages ago, but readers took the character seriously, and I abandoned it to preserve feelings. Do not get attached to this Sue. She will redeem her Sue-ness eventually. That doesn't mean _she_ will be redeemed. I no longer remember where in the timeline this is set. Definitely after book 3, possibly after book 4, for sure before book 5. I've basically just found an old copy of an old WIP and cleaned up the punctuation. I'm kind of curious if I can manage an ending.

~

 _I think it's perfectly clear_  
_We're in the wrong band;_  
_Ginger is always sincere_  
_Just not to one man_

_~_

The infirmary was beginning to feel like Harry's second home. As Madame Pomfrey guided the floating gurney on which he lay toward the familiar cot-lined hall, he had a wry thought that perhaps he should move his books and things permanently to the bedside table of the third cot on the right to save Ron the trouble of fetching them. Ron, by way of making light of his frequent hospitalization, had kidded Harry that he must fancy Madame Pomfrey. Harry shuddered at the prospect, but even if it were the case, the feeling seemed hardly mutual.

"Mr. Potter," she declared, "you have to be one of _the_ most accident prone young men I have _ever_ seen." And considering how often she must see Neville, Harry thought that was saying something.

Depositing him on his usual bed, Pomfrey began her examination. "Now let's have a look," she said, yanking roughly at Harry's shirt. He winced and forced himself to swallow a yelp of pain.

"In the name of Merlin!"

Beneath Harry's scarlet Quidditch robes his ribs and entire left side were beginning to turn several nasty shades of purple.

"And _how_ exactly did this happen?"

"Bludger," Harry said through gritted teeth. "It got away from Angelina as she was trying to put them away, so I didn't exactly expect it."

She clucked her tongue in disapproval as she moved to gather her wand and, no doubt, several different bottles of foul tasting medicine. "Really," she said shaking her head, "I can't believe they condone, much less _encourage_ , you children to play such a dangerous game. Well, you have a couple of broken ribs, easy enough to mend. But Merlin knows what else has been bruised or ruptured." Then, with no great attempt at gentleness she began administering Harry's treatment.

To distract himself from this discomfort, Harry looked about him at the rest of the infirmary. He hadn't been there since the end of last year, but then, school had only started again about a month ago. As he had expected, nothing much had changed. The same old paintings of nurses and harried doctors hung on the walls. One painting of a very sweet looking old nurse, Harry's favorite, gave him a little wink and a shake of the head as if to say "here already?" Harry grinned...and then winced, as Pomfrey seemed think he had nothing to smile about and had prodded him especially hard. Harry sighed, a bit irritated, and resumed his diversion. He swept his gaze down the familiar line of neat beds, when he eyes came to rest on something he had failed to notice when he arrived.

The last bed across from him on the right was occupied, but all Harry could discern of the patient was a mass of red hair. Not red like Ron's, but darker, like the color of drying blood.

Curious. Who was this girl? Even if she was a first year, surely he couldn't have missed such a striking mane at the sorting ceremony, no matter how little attention he now paid to it. Harry's ribcage was momentarily forgotten as he studied the girl, or rather, her hair which lay in thick, immaculate waves like deep crimson snakes arrayed across her pillow. The effect was as unsettling as it was beautiful. Slowly, they shifted, and he could discern from beneath them two dark but sparkling eyes peering curiously at him. Her gaze was steady, but not malevolent, and so Harry in turn felt bold enough, or rather _compelled_ , to sustain the link until...

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry was pulled from his reverie by a very exasperated Madame Pomfrey. "Excuse me?" he said dazedly.

"Are you _quite_ sure that bludger did not also make contact with your head, Mr. Potter?" She gave him a disgruntled look and Harry tried his best to appear apologetic. With an accepting 'Hmph' she repeated herself. "I said I've done what I can. But in case you are bleeding in places that cannot be seen, I'd like you to remain here for a few hours where I can keep an eye on you." Then she unceremoniously threw a blanket across him and left, muttering something under her breath about bludgers and broomsticks.

Harry looked after her until the click of her boot-heel faded entirely, and then he turned his attention back to his temporary roommate. He found her still staring at him, but when their eyes met again, she coyly turned her head.

Although he was sure his nurse would have a fit if she caught him up and about, Harry's curiosity got the better of him. Not that he didn't mull over the decision for a whole thirty seconds. With a sharp, determined breath, he rolled from his bed and made his way slowly and painfully down the hall. As he took a seat on the next to the last bed, he wondered how best to say hello.

The girl looked over her shoulder at him but didn't turn, speaking from the midst of all that bloody hair. "I've always thought the best way to say hello was to do just that."

Harry started. Had he spoken aloud? Now she did sit up and turn to him. Harry tossed this confusion aside, for it seemed the bed and floor beneath him had abruptly disappeared and the only thing he had to orient himself were those two large, brown eyes. Though he was sure he'd never seen her before, this was no gangly first year. She had to be at least Harry's own age.

'And,' Harry thought as he felt his eyes involuntary widen, 'she is quite, quite lovely.' No. Somehow lovely didn't seem to be the right word. She was--fittingly--bewitching.

She blushed, adding the slightest tint to her porcelain cheeks, and broke into a small, sweet smile, and Harry officially turned to goo...then realized he must be, unabashedly, staring. "H-hello," he stuttered.

She smiled more broadly. "Hello."

Her voice was clear and silvery. It sent the sweetest shiver running down Harry's spine.

"I'm Harry."

"It's nice to meet you, Harry."

_Hmm. She's an American? How curious._

"I'm Saryn."

"Saryn," Harry repeated dreamily. "That's a pretty name."

"Thank you," she said, giggling at his smitten expression. She could have been named Gertrude and he would have said the same. "I've always preferred it. But my mother used to call me Sue." She seemed suddenly sad. "I suppose Saryn was too exotic for everyday use."

Harry didn't respond to this. Instead, he fixed his gaze on her glittering eyes again. They were large and round, slanted slightly, almost catty; and they seemed to absorb the red of her hair, turning them a dark auburn. Deciding Harry wasn't about to resume the conversation any time soon, she spoke.

"The nurse...Madame Pomfrey, is it? She doesn't seem too happy with you."

Harry woke from his trance and shrugged. "I think she thinks I'm a masochist."

"Are you?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. Now it was Harry's turn to blush.

"Oh no, just unfortunate."

She looked down at the hand Harry held clutched at his injured side. Boldly, rather like a curious child, she reached out and lifted his shirt to look; although she did so considerably more delicately than had Madame Pomfrey.

"Gracious!" she said studying the bruise, "That looks very painful. Are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah," he said trying to sound stoic, "These things are pretty standard in Quidditch I guess."

She dropped his shirt and gave him a quizzical look. "Quidditch? Oh yes, I've heard about that. It's a kind of sport isn't it?"

"You've never seen Quidditch?" he began to ask, but she cut him short.

"From what my aunt tells me it sounds exciting. But dangerous, what with the budgers..."

"Bludgers," Harry corrected.

"...and those fast broomsticks," she went on without missing a beat, "Do you get hurt often?"

Harry wasn't sure how to answer. How often was often?

"Well..."

"You seem to have a rather mean scar on your forehead. Was that from a bludger as well?"

"My scar?" Harry asked giving her a blank look. It took a moment to register in Harry's brain, but this girl really had no idea who he was. Or that who he was was of any special significance. That realization somehow made him feel considerably more comfortable with her. That is, until he remembered how he _did_ receive his scar.

"No," he said, not really wanting to explain it all just then, " I didn't get it from a bludger."

She eyed him curiously, and then intuitively changed the subject. "I don't mean to ask so many questions. This is all just so new to me."

As Harry drove from his mind the many unpleasant memories evoked by her innocent question, he realized again how fascinated he was with her. "So, you don't know anything about the Wizarding world?"

She looked away shyly and shook her head, "Not much."

"But surely they have Wizard schools in America."

"Oh yes, no doubt they do. But my parents would never let me attend." Again, her voice dropped at the mention of her parents, and Harry sensed the subject was painful for her. He wondered why. Could it be, perhaps, that she was orphaned like he was?

Almost in answer to that thought she continued. "After they died, I came to live with my aunt here in England. She's a Witch, and of course doesn't begrudge my...abilities, so she thought it would be a good idea that I came here and tried to catch up on my education. "

"How _old_ are you?" Harry asked before he could help himself and hoped it didn't come off as rudely as he thought it had.

She didn't seem to register any offense. "Sixteen," she answered dejectedly. "I'm so dreadfully behind. I've been taking these lessons called... _Kwikspell,_ I think it is." Harry gave an inward smile remembering his fortunate discovery in Filch's office his second year. "But my aunt thought I should take proper classes, as there's only so much you can learn from a book."

_Don't let Hermione hear you say that._

"Did you say something, Harry?"

Puzzled, Harry shook his head.

"Oh. Well, we were sorting things out in Professor Dumbledore's Office when..." She trailed off and Harry gave her a questioning look. "When I was struck by a headache," she finished in a tone that was a little too deliberate.

Harry decided not to ask. "I'm sure you'll love it here," he said. "My friend Hermione is really smart. I'll bet you anything she wouldn't mind tutoring you."

Saryn's face lit up immediately. "Really?"

"Sure. And besides, if she's busy teaching you, maybe she'll lay off Ron and me about doing our homework," he added with a smile. A smile she returned. And once again Harry felt himself being drawn into those dark eyes. There was just something about them, an expression that, for all their naivety, seemed so...knowing.

"Mr. Potter!" Madame Pomfrey's voice echoed sharply off the infirmary walls. Harry must have jumped at least a foot, causing his side to veritably explode with pain.

The nurse was making her way briskly and angrily towards her charge. Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh boy, here we go," he whispered to Saryn who bit both her lips to repress a giggle.

"Just what do you think you're doing out of bed?" she scolded shrilly. "Don't you _want_ to mend?"

Like a chastised dog, Harry made to rise and return to his own bed.

"No, no. No sense in making it worse by moving you again. Just lie down where you are."

Harry couldn't believe his luck. He was suddenly thrilled at the prospect of being allowed to bed down so close to his new acquaintance, as there were a hundred little curiosities he was dying to voice. However, his elation was short-lived.

"Yes, here will do, for I think Miss Sylvany is looking much better." Madame Pomfrey's expression softened instantly as she addressed Saryn. "And how are you feeling now, my dear?"

"Oh, much better, ma'am. Thank you," Saryn replied oh so politely.

"Then you are quite free to go."

With a small, quick smile of thanks, Saryn slipped from the bed and straightened her clothes. Once again, Harry looked on, spellbound, and remarked on how languid her gestures were. She moved with such an easy grace that Harry had the feeling he could watch her straighten her buttons all day. But Madame Pomfrey, once again ruining things, gestured for Saryn to come along so she might escort her from the infirmary.

As they passed Saryn whispered to him, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Harry."

"I'll see you in the common room," Harry almost replied, when he caught himself. He hadn't thought to ask...

"Saryn!" he called after them. She stopped and turned as her escort threw Harry and impatient glance. "Saryn, have you been sorted? Do you know what house you're in?"

"Oh, yes," she replied as though meaning to mention it earlier, "I'm in Slytherin House."

And with that she was whisked away, leaving a very shocked and crestfallen Harry Potter in her wake.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco Malfoy had his misgivings.

"So just how did a _Mudblood_ manage to get into Slytherin?" he spat disgustedly.

"Y'know, I've heard all sorts of things, but Snape says she isn't _technically_ a Mudblood. Though that's all he'll say. Well, besides that we aren't to bother her about it," Pansy Parkinson provided, loving the taste of the fresh gossip that spilled so eagerly from her lips.

"Is she rooming with you?" Draco asked.

At this she gave a resentful snort. "No. Since she started so late there wasn't anywhere to put her really. They had to fix up an old storage dungeon for her, the little one at the end of the hallway past the _actual_ dormitories." She was trying to come up with some hatefully clever remark about Saryn living in a broom closet to use the next time she encountered the new girl. The trouble was, Pansy wasn't clever, only very jealous that Saryn had a private room.

Draco mulled over this, making no attempt to hide the fact he was now ignoring Pansy's continued prattle. Slighted, she finally marched off indignantly, leaving Draco to himself.

"What's so technical about being a Mudblood?" he muttered, pacing the common room. "Either you are or you aren't." Draco wasn't about to let Salazar Slytherin's noble legacy be tainted by the admittance into their ranks of a textbook incarnation of everything the proud Wizard despised. "Might as well wrap Granger in a green and silver scarf."

As he brooded he absently fondled Neville's new Rememberall (Neville had had to write to his Gran for a new one, being unable to remember where he'd put the old one) which he had deftly lifted during potions that day. But his self-satisfaction in this was overshadowed by his doubts about his house's latest addition.

The mysterious object of his vexation had apparently shut herself in her room sometime during the afternoon when Draco had been out spying on Gryffindor's Quidditch practice. Their new captain, Angelina Johnson, apparently hadn't strayed too far from her predecessor's coaching techniques, so the afternoon might have been a horrendous waste of time had it not been for the subtle charm Draco had cast as Angelina was putting away the equipment which knocked a particularly irritable bludger from her hands and sent it soaring beautifully right into Harry Potter's unsuspecting ribcage. In the bustle that had ensued, Draco lost himself on the far side of the lake to elude discovery, and by the time he had made it back to the common room, the new girl had already bastioned herself in her room. She didn't even emerge for dinner, which Draco had missed hoping to catch her en route. His growling stomach did little to improve his presently rather sour opinion of her.

The night was wearing on and the common room had long since emptied, despite it being a Friday night. Draco decided it would do just a well to fume over his disappointing evening from the comfort of his bed, and turned to descend the dim passage that led to his room. But before he reached its threshold, he heard, echoing off the bare dungeon walls, the distinct sound of rusty hinges and the swish and clank of a door being closed...and it had come from the direction of the girl's dormitories. He quickly stowed himself behind the dungeon bulletin board to spy.

A shock of intensely red hair, its length veritably Rapunzel-esque, peeked from the passage and turned slowly as its owner carefully surveyed the common room. Draco watched with baited breath as a profile of delicate, graceful features rotated into view and two deep set, almost black eyes swept towards his hiding place. There they stayed, if only for an instant, on the shadows in which Draco stooped. Draco did not so much as breathe.

Seemingly satisfied, the girl stepped from the passage and glided towards the recently abandoned couch where she curled up, not unlike a snake coiling to rest, and opened the book she had brought. Even though the air was chill, as the late Summer warmth present outside never really infiltrated their subterranean passages (Draco himself wore a formidable sweater), it didn't seem to bother the girl. She was unshod and otherwise clad only in sheer pajama bottoms and a sleeveless top. Her pale, bare skin had an alabaster glow in the dim light of the torches, which failed to penetrate the shadowed pitch of her eyes. There was an uncanny stillness about her. It gave her a sinister air that Draco found very alluring. For a long while, he stood unmoving, drinking in the sight of her.

'Funny Pansy didn't mention how attractive she was, a fact that could hardly have been easily forgotten,' Draco thought. 'But then, with the way Pansy's always ogling me, constantly vying for my attention, I can see where she might not be so quick to promote any possible competition.'

It may have been a play of the light, but Draco thought he could discern the traces of a smile deepen in the girl's marble smooth complexion. "Well. I, for one, don't remember mentioning any intention to compete. Especially for a boy I've never met."

Draco's mouth fell open and all the blood in his body quickly relocated to the vicinity of his ankles. The girl lifted her eyes to meet his through the darkness, a darkness they couldn't possibly penetrate...or could they?

Draco shuffled wordlessly from his hiding place. "I-I..." he stuttered, his lips trying, and failing, to mold themselves into any semblance of a coherent sentence.

Her eyes narrowed in amusement. "Nevermind," she said softly, gesturing to the chair opposite her, "Have a seat."

Draco did this, crossing the room without once taking his eyes off her, and so stumbling more than once over the common room's sparse furnishings in the process.

"I didn't mean to startle you," she said, but then recanted. "Well, perhaps I did. But I couldn't resist, you had so much confidence in your powers of stealth." She was unable to suppress a smile. Had his blood not still been clinging tenaciously to his toes, Draco might have blushed. "I pick up on too many things here," she went on. "Something about the air is super-conducive of..."

She stopped, seeming unsure if Draco was absorbing a word of what she said.

He blinked and finally shook off his shock. "Yes?"

"Oh, nothing"

Draco's icy composure was rapidly reassembling itself, and he fixed her with a suspicious look. "Who _are_ you?"

She did not respond straight away. She seemed to be appraising him. This made Draco extremely uncomfortable, but he refused to show this outwardly and silently berated himself for allowing himself such indulgence earlier.

"My name is Saryn. Saryn Sylvany," she said at last. "And yours?"

"Draco. Draco Malfoy," he replied, accentuating his last name as if to suggest some measure of importance.

Saryn was completely unfazed. "Mr. Malfoy," she acknowledged, "Might I ask why you were spying on me?" It wasn't an indictment.

"I was simply hoping to have a word with our newest member," he said, flashing a 'trust me' smile that, for all it's perfection, never failed to appear a bit cruel and certainly not sincere.

"So?" she asked expectantly. "Which word was that?"

Draco's long-plotted interrogation failed him. She didn't quite reek of Mudblood as he had expected. Was she really raised by Muggles? Her accent threw him off a bit, but she didn't really act like a Muggle. But then, Draco hadn't exactly studied many Muggles. His thoughts were momentarily written on his expression, and he eyed her distrustfully as they slithered through his mind.

"I only wanted to welcome you to Slytherin," he began, now pouring on his oily charm in undue amounts. "As I understand it, you weren't raised in the Wizarding world. True, that's seems... _odd_ for a Slytherin, but," he gave a small shrug, "as such, I'm sure you are unaware of the..."

"Politics here?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth. You see, we Slytherins are very proud of our heritage, something we wouldn't want to... _defile_ by associating with those, well, below us," Draco said giving her a meaningful look. He surprised himself. These words seemed like something his father would say. In fact now that he thought about it, his father had said them, if not word for word, several times throughout Draco's childhood.

Saryn was looking at him thoughtfully and Draco resolved to hold her gaze. 

 _Damn, I thought girls blinked incessantly_. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up.

"So," she said suddenly in a soft voice, startling Draco who had been concentrating very hard on their staring contest, "that carried the tone of a threat, Mr. Malfoy."

"Threat?" he responded as though that was a truly absurd suggestion, "I simply meant that Hogwarts must be a considerable change from the life to which you are accustomed. I thought it might make it easier for you to settle in if you were more... _educated_ about the way things work here. One less thing for you to worry about. I only had your interests in mind."

"And I suppose _you_ epitomize the ideal Slytherin?" she said after a pause. Something in her tone made him almost afraid to respond, but his pride overrode his caution.

"You might say that. I think for some...say, _Potter,_ for instance," he sneered, loathing thick on his tongue as he spoke the name, "the name Malfoy and Slytherin are one and the same."

"I see," she said coolly. "So I shall look to you for...inspiration?"

"I would hope," he said conceitedly. "Not that I'd like another Malfoy would-be dragging my heels..." He looked her up and down. "You seem to have the manner down nicely. So long as you don't go fraternizing with Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers--like Weasley or that know-it-all Granger--you should fit in nicely."

"I'll certainly keep that in mind. And thank you so much for the tutorial," she said, and then dismissively returned her attention to her reading. Draco, however, showed no signs of leaving.

"Listen, Sylvany..."

She raised her eyebrow but not her head.

"...I don't want to get off on the wrong foot here. I think I might like you. So, if you have any questions concerning etiquette, I would be more than happy to take you under my wing."

She looked up at him thoughtfully. "We shall see. Now, I do believe you were headed for bed?" She smiled at him in a very ambiguous way. "Don't let me keep you."

 

* * *

 

 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way toward the Great Hall together. This occurrence was surprisingly rare, as they usually meandered down intermittently, eventually congregating in the usual spot. But this morning Hermione, worried about Harry's injury, had lingered in the common room until he rose. It seems she thought she and Ron might both be needed to carry him to breakfast.

"Are you _sure_ you're alright?" she asked him for the tenth time.

"Hermione, I am _fine_. A little sore perhaps, but nothing to worry about."

However, since worrying seemed to be one of Hermione's favorite pastimes, his assurances had little effect. Still, she nodded and reluctantly changed the subject. "So, did you hear there's a new student?"

"Yeah," answered Ron, "Seamus overheard McGonagall talking about it. Don't know much else though."

Harry was suddenly very interested in the cuffs of his sweater sleeves.

Hermione scrunched her nose thoughtfully. "Seems strange, doesn't it? Starting so late in the term. Where'd they transfer from do you think? We had all those students transfer from Durmstrang after Karkaroff disappeared. Maybe she just arrived late."

"Um, she didn't transfer from anywhere," Harry offered in a small voice.

Hermione slowed in her tracks. " _She?_ "

"Yeah. Her name's Saryn," he elaborated, suddenly very shy. "She's moved here from the States. I don't think she's ever been to Wizarding school."

"How do you know all this?" she asked.

"I saw her in the infirmary yesterday."

"Yesterday? You talked to her?" asked Ron, torn between curiosity and a mild sense of betrayal. "Well, why didn't you mention it earlier?"

"It was just a quick word," Harry said in his defense and pulled a shrug. "I didn't feel much like talking when I came up, recently shattered ribs and all. Besides, that's really all there is to tell, I promise."

Ron shrugged as well, seemed to accept this, and proceeded earnestly towards breakfast with Harry and Hermione in tow. Hermione, however, did not seem so easily satisfied. This was one of those rare moments when Harry almost resented Hermione's keen intuition. He could feel her look on the back of his neck, but ignored it. He had other things to think about. The mention of Saryn added to his turmoil about how exactly he should feel about the girl, but it also reminded him how nonetheless eager he was to see her again. As they entered the Great Hall, he automatically scanned the Slytherin table for her red waves, but there was nary a sign of the crimson cascade.

"Is she here?" Ron asked as they settled down with their plates. For show Harry scanned the room again, the _whole_ room, and then shook his head. "Hey, I wonder what house she'll be in," Ron mused aloud.

Harry's stomach turned. He feigned ignorance and speared absently at his sausages.

"Is she pretty?" Hermione asked rather spontaneously, but the expression she wore looked as if she didn't really want to know.

"As pretty as the next girl," Harry responded, concentrating too hard on sounding nonchalant to find the question odd. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up. He hated the feeling that he was lying to his best friends, the two people in all the world to whom he felt he could tell almost anything. But somehow he also had the feeling that if they knew he had a raging crush on a member of Slytherin house, they'd never let him live it down. He stared at his scrambled eggs as though they might yield some oracle like Trelawny and her tea leaves, but the lumpy composition offered no advice. It had, however, injured Harry's appetite. He'd never noticed just how unpalatable they really looked.

 _This is ridiculous!_ he told himself. _It was only a brief encounter. She's in Slytherin, for goodness' sake, how worthwhile can she be?_

He shook his head to drive away any further thoughts of the redhead and started chatting enthusiastically with Ron about the upcoming Quidditch game. Per usual when this particular subject was broached, Harry hardly got a word in edgewise. But as Ron began to rant with rising indignation about Slytherin's foul behavior during the last Gryffindor/Slytherin match ("bumphing, haversacking, blagging, sons of-"..."Ron!") Harry found his eyes drift expectantly and involuntarily to the doors of the Great Hall.

 

* * *

 

 

Saryn never showed up for breakfast. Or lunch. Draco, now completely over the shock of the previous night, assumed this absence had something to do with her strange comment about 'picking up on too many things', though what exactly that meant eluded him.

"I should have had the presence of mind to ask," he chided himself. He wondered if Saryn was in her room just then. Since it was such a pleasant Saturday afternoon, the common room was likely to be nearly empty, and so it seemed the perfect time to make another attempt at his cross-examination.

Saryn was where he had expected to find her, and her door was ajar. Taking this as a standing invitation, Draco let himself in without bothering to knock. The room was small and cluttered with large, mismatched furniture. In the far corner, in a massive leather armchair, sat Saryn. Or rather, _lounged_ Saryn, as she was draped easily and elegantly over its contours, her legs hanging over the armrest. Her eyes were closed, but when Draco came in she smiled. It was not an inviting smile, or a 'pleasure to see you smile', just a cold, acknowledging smile. But then she ignored him, humming to the faint sound of music coming from what appeared to Draco to be a pair of small plastic earmuffs connected by a string to a little, flat plastic box with buttons. As he studied the strange contraption, Saryn's eyelids slid open, her gaze automatically fixed on her guest.

"What is that?" Draco asked her, unsure if she could hear him.

"Tori Amos," she replied.

"Who? No, that thing, what is it?" he asked, pointing.

"Do you like Tori Amos?" she asked, totally ignoring his question.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "I've never met her."

She smiled, "Of course not."

She sat up now, drawing one knee to her chest and pulling the other beneath her. Draco mused that it appeared as though things like chairs were totally alien to her, though effortlessly adapted to. He found this particular mannerism, as many others, very seductive. The eerie music coming from the earmuffs faded to silence, and Saryn then fixed him with a gaze which, though not impatient, enticed him to speak.

"Is that...a _Muggle_ contraption?" he asked, slightly disgusted.

"Ah, yes," she answered, slightly disappointed, and slipped the thing off her head, "the obvious Slytherin abhorrence of anything Muggle related. I fear I have slipped in my serpentine duties, but do have patience with me, I'm still learning."

Draco seemed to interpret this as a genuine apology and gave a casual, forgiving wave of his hand before making himself at home on Saryn's bed, reclining on one elbow. "So it's true? You were actually raised by Muggles?"

"'Fraid so."

Draco was unsure how exactly to feel about this girl. True, she seemed to have more brains than the typical dungeon resident, and Slytherin house's collective lack of intelligence had been a recurring frustration to Draco. She certainly wasn't hard on the eyes, either. But somehow Draco felt he _should_ be slightly repulsed by the fact that she was _practically_ a Muggle.

_Perhaps I should just feel sorry for her._

But pity was something Draco found he had precious little of, and he usually reserved his small stores for himself. "I didn't see you in the Great Hall," he finally said.

"I thought I should wait until I'm more accustomed to the environment."

"I see," he replied, totally clueless but determined not to show it. Besides, he intended to make himself her saviour. "Well, dinner's over, but we can arrange something. I happen to know the secret entrance to the kitchens. I'll show you. Those ridiculous house elves will bury you in goodies."

"I know," she said. "In fact, I've eaten. They sent a large amount back with me when I left last night."

Draco sat up on the bed. "You went to the kitchen's last night?" 

"Yes, not long after you went to bed."

"You know, you can get into a fair amount of trouble for wandering the halls at night," he said, more out of crestfallen agitation than concern.

"I figured as much."

_Hmm. Ballsy little bitch._

"Wait a minute! Just how did you know how to get into the kitchens?" he asked.

"Crabbe and Goyle."

"You've spoken to Crabbe and Goyle?" He'd have to have a word with those two, he couldn't believe they didn't mention anything to him.

"Oh no, I've not spoken to anyone besides you, really. You should feel special, I suppose," she said with a sly smile.

"B-but then how...?"

"Alright, Draco," she interrupted, obviously feeling their parley was getting tedious, "If you have not already surmised, I am fairly...psychic."

"Psychic?" he asked sceptically.

"Yes, psychic. Clairvoyant, hyper-intuitive, whichever you'd like to call it. And since I was introduced to the Wizarding world, it has gradually intensified. Here at Hogwarts, for some reason, I seem to be particularly sensitive, hence my seclusion. It's actually a bloody pain in the arse, to use the native terminology. But, it _is_ occasionally useful...like when two gluttonous half-ogres come trudging into the common room with their arms full of pastries, _still_ chuckling to themselves about the way the pear squirms under their finger when they tickle it. So now perhaps you won't feel quite so sorry for this ballsy little bitch."

Draco was suddenly very uncomfortable. "I'd say it was a _bit_ rude not to mention this a little earlier." His voice held more venom than he had intended.

"I had hoped I wouldn't have to mention it at all. It will be taken care of by Monday. It's much too distracting, and Professor Snape is concocting something to tame it. It's almost a shame," she said grinning mischievously. "It would make taking tests so much easier."

This news allowed Draco to relax a bit, though he was still considerably flustered. "I see. Then in that case, perhaps it would be better if I did not pester you before then." He rose to leave.

"Oh, Draco."

He paused at the door.

"I really will be lost on Monday. It's amazing how different things can look by the light of day. If your offer still stands, I would appreciate a faithful guide."

_She makes it sound like I'm a seeing eye dog._

"Very well. I shall see you on Monday morning, then. If you wait for me in the common room, we can go up to breakfast together. Until then."

He bowed in a farewell a little too curt to be considered gentlemanly and left.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_~_  

_So don't give me respect_  
_Don't give me a piece of your preciousness;_  
_flaunt all she's got in our old neighborhood_  
_I'm sure she'll make a few friends..._

~

On Monday as classes resumed, Saryn finally materialized. She seemed unaffected by the rumors and soft exclamations of awe that followed her through the passages almost as closely as did Draco Malfoy. For days he was on her heels like a pale silver shadow. Smug pride hung on his face like a neon sign laying claim to the beauty, and it was powered by every double take or salivating stare of every boy who watched her pass, or the envious glance of every girl whose affections Draco had ever shunned. Saryn, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to all eyes.

Except Harry's.

Her appearance at meals was still a rarity, but when present she always gave him a fleeting glance and the slightest hint of a smile which Harry somehow knew had nothing to do with whatever Draco happened to be whispering in her ear. When she passed him in the halls it was the same, so subtle Harry might have dismissed it as his imagination...had it not been for Hermione.

"Why is she always leering at you?" she fumed on the way to Potions.

"Probably because Harry's leering at her," Ron kidded.

Harry blushed and Hermione gave Ron a disapproving look.

"What? I leer at her, too. Oh, come on, Hermione. We can't expect you to understand. Maybe if _Vicky_ was here, you'd have something to gawk at as well."

"First of all, his name is _not_ Vicky! And second..."

Hermione's retort was cut short by a familiar drawl from behind them. "Well if it isn't the Holy Trinity," Draco remarked. "Lover's spat, Weasley? Come now, we all know how much you adore Muggles, but surely you can overlook the few measly drops of Wizarding blood Granger _does_ possess."

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Ron spat before Hermione drug him into the dungeons casting Malfoy a look smattering of such contempt it would have made the blood run cold in any other person. Malfoy's lip curled in sadistic satisfaction. Harry glared at his as well and ducked into the potions classroom after his friends, but as he did he caught sight of Saryn coming to a halt beside the blond boy. Harry did an about face and hovered just inside the doorway hoping to at least hear the sound of her voice.

"Why do you always wear that thing, Draco?" came her mercurial tone. Harry peeked round the door frame.

Malfoy tilted his head at her, exceedingly perplexed. "What? My tie?" he said stroking it. "It's standard school uniform. But of course Father bought me this silk one last sum-"

"I was referring to that sneer," she corrected. Harry only just caught a hiccup of laughter before it escaped his lips. "You know, you'd really be a strikingly handsome boy if you weren't constantly contorting your features."

Harry disliked hearing Saryn referring to Draco Malfoy as 'strikingly handsome', but perhaps it was worth it to see Malfoy's ears burn a shade of crimson that rivaled the color of Saryn's hair; whether it was from being publicly criticized or from being considered strikingly handsome was impossible to tell. Harry had the feeling it was a combination of the two. Malfoy was, for once in his life, speechless.

With an indifferent air, Saryn turned her back on her stunned companion to go to class. Harry had to practically sprint to his table to avoid being caught by her. As he took his seat, he noted Ron and Hermione were still arguing in hushed tones.

"You won't believe what I just overheard," Harry said jubilantly but was ignored.

"Well, I for one don't understand what all the fuss is about," Hermione stated. "So she looks as though she hasn't seen the sun for ten years. So it looks like her scalp is bleeding profusely. Is that all it takes to turn a head? Pasty skin and unnaturally red hair? -And I'll bet you _anything_ it isn't natural- And it isn't just you hormone driven little boys, either."

Ron looked very upset about being called a little boy, but she didn't give him a chance to voice his indignation.

"The staff seems to have gone gaga over her, as well," she went on. "I mean, all the professors treat the students with a certain respect. Well, except Snape, that is. But they approach _her_ with a reverence that seems to border on fear. I want to know just what could be so _bloody_ special about her."

She must have really been bothered by this, Hermione almost never swore.

"Well, Trelawny was talking about her in Divination," said Ron. "I mean, I'm not exactly sure what all she said, 'cause a' course, I wasn't paying any attention, as usual. But she mentioned something about being impressed by her 'powers'."

Hermione was exasperated. "Oh,  _please_ , Ron. Trelawny is a kook. And if she's so fond of this girl and her 'powers', then _she_ must be a kook as well!"

"I don't know why you'd say that."

The three of them swiveled toward the voice simultaneously. Ron's mouth went slack and Hermione turned a very endearing shade of pink.

There stood none other than Saryn Sylvany herself, a puzzled but unconcerned look on her face.

Hermione was a little embarrassed but, once recovered from her shock, stood her ground. "I say that because that is what she is. How she can call herself a professor and still sleep soundly at night is beyond me. The subject is pointless. It should be called Elaborate Conjecture instead of Divination. All she does is perpetuate superstitions."

"I'm not entirely certain about that," Saryn replied. "You're Muggle-born aren't you?"

"I hardly see what _that_ has to do with anything!" Hermione roiled.

"I meant no offense," Saryn interjected. "I just thought that you would be familiar with, or at the very least vaguely aware of, the concepts of physics. I find it an area of study most Wizards are not well versed in. Mention Einstein and they react about the way a Muggle would to the name Dumbledore."

Hermione accepted this but looked at Saryn as if to ask, 'And your point?'

"What I'm saying is...well, the universe follows a certain set of rules which we do not _entirely_ understand. Regardless of our ignorance, these rules still apply, and we see them at work everyday. A Muggle, no doubt, would look upon all we do here much in the same way you look upon Divination: smoke and mirrors and superstition. We, however, know better. But magic is a condition of life that we accept in full faith, we don't question it."

Hermione raised an eyebrow impatiently.

"What I'm saying is," Saryn continued in a tone of infinite, unruffled patience, "if we raise our wands and say ' _wingardium leviosa'_ , we know the object will rise."

Saryn did this, levitating Hermione's sealed ink bottle. She lowered her wand but the bottle remained suspended. Then, to their surprise, it began to twirl and dance, seemingly like the thoughts through Saryn's mind. She stared at it absently as she continued.

"Now we don't know exactly how or why this works. Neither, perhaps, do we care to 'waste' time trying to explain it. Quantum Physics might provide us with some answers, but as the technicalities are--to us--superfluous, we don't seek to understand them."

Saryn raised her hand and, using her finger like a conductor's baton, lazily directed the rotating ink bottle in loops and spirals.

"Why this works for us and not for Muggles is a remarkable curiosity. It appears to have much to do with predisposition, innate power which is obviously not universal. In this same way, perhaps there are those more predisposed to the art of Divination. But those people, confident in its validity, care more about developing their craft than contriving scientific rationalizations for those with lesser ability in that area."

"Are you saying," Hermione said in a forcibly calm voice that, frankly, frightened both Ron and Harry, "that there is a hierarchy of magical ability, and you and Trelawny rank higher in it than I do?"

Saryn regarded Hermione's acrid expression. She raised her hand and the ink bottle stopped tumbling and went soaring into her waiting palm. "I'm not sure what I'm saying," she said, returning Hermione's ink to her. "Only musing aloud."

"Oh, it's alright," Hermione spat sardonically. " _Most_ Slytherins assume superiority in an imagined Wizarding caste system. I'm hardly surprised."

Saryn only looked at Hermione with an unreadable expression and, without retort, returned to her seat beside Draco who immediately leaned in to whisper to her. He cast a sidelong sneer at Hermione's infuriated expression. A sneer which quickly dissolved as he met Saryn's look and recalled the recent episode in the hallway. Harry broke into half a righteous grin and turned to his friend.

"Y'know, Hermione," he said timidly, "I'm not sure she meant that in the way you're taking it."

"Yeah," Ron added, "I mean, I'd never thought of it that way. Maybe I should start waiting to take my naps until _after_ Divination."

This comment did not help matters.

"Oh, please, Harry! You know how Slytherins are. I'm surprised she didn't just out and say my Muggle heritage must have sabotaged my 'powers' of Divination."

"Well, maybe she's not like most Slytherins," Harry returned.

"If she wasn't like most Slytherins, she wouldn't be one, now would she?" Hermione spat.

Before Harry could argue, Snape came striding to his podium. The expression he wore told them he had overheard everything that had just transpired. He cast Harry and his friends a snotty look and then began his lesson.

"Today, class, we will begin work on the Draught of Disillusionment. It is a highly advanced potion which, no doubt, our Mr. Longbottom will not be the only one to succeed famously in mispreparing."

Neville seemed to shrink in his seat and cast an imploring look at Hermione who nodded reassuringly back at him. The entire exchange was specially noted by the Potions Master.

"Now, many of you may foolishly take for granted the function of this draught, which really is quite self-explanatory. However, the nature of illusions, especially those self-imposed, is precisely to play down the potency of reality and form a rather comfortable blanket of denial about the afflicted. The purpose of the draught is to rip away the self spun fantasy pertaining to whatever matter weighs heaviest upon it's drinker...but also to cause them to accept the truth of said circumstance."

He stared meaningfully down his long hawkish nose at his class.

"This last part is more important than one might realize. I have seen subjects who have ingested a poorly brewed draught go momentarily mad under the weight of the bare truth they are suddenly forced to confront. Keep that in mind as you prepare it, especially those of you with unusually harsh circumstances, past or present..." His eyes shot immediately to Harry "...as you will be testing your potions yourself at the end of the term. I believe you will find the instructions on page 1216 of your texts. Proceed."

Neville began to gather his things as Hermione made room for him to join Harry, Ron and her at their table, but Snape quickly intervened.

"No, I think not, Miss Granger. If Mr. Longbottom cannot follow a potions recipe by now, he all but deserves his fate." Neville cast his eyes sheepishly to the floor, while Hermione threw Snape a dagger drawn look. Snape almost smiled as he continued, "However, since the potion is an advanced one, and considering Miss Sylvany's disadvantage, I think you shall, instead, be coaching her."

It was all Hermione could do to hold her tongue. Saryn began to gather her things.

"No, no, Miss Sylvany, don't trouble yourself. Miss Granger can go to you," he said turning toward his office.

"It's really no trouble. That wouldn't quite be polite, and I already have my things in hand," Saryn replied matter-of-factly as she made her way towards the stunned Gryffindor.

Snape Froze. His face went even paler than usual, and he pivoted to face the girl, disbelief flickering over his expression before he was able to regain his composure. Blatant contradiction was a rare occurrence in his dungeon, and absolutely unheard of coming from a member of his own house. Saryn seemed to ignore him, even as everyone else eyed him in startled, breathless anticipation. Surprisingly, the professor said nothing at all in reprimand, and he finally strode sulkily to his office and slammed the door.

Saryn, meanwhile, was arranging her things almost cheerfully in front of them. Harry gawked in undisguised admiration. Ron actually smiled at her. Hermione, on the other hand, was staring holes in the tabletop. "Why did you do that?" she asked, obviously suspicious, despite her relief.

"Well, it appeared he was being a bit mean spirited. I didn't think, from the look on your face, that you'd want to be surrounded by Slytherins. And frankly," she said, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, "neither do I."

The rest of the class period passed rather quietly, and Hermione's voice just almost sounded friendly when she explained to Saryn that if she didn't shave her shrivelfig more finely, it would never dissolve properly. At last Professor Snape reappeared to dismiss the class (he had curiously remained stowed in his office the entire period) but finished with a request that Miss Sylvany kindly remain behind. Hermione was the first out of the room, literally dragging Ron and Harry after her by the shirtfront, without a single parting word to Saryn.

However, they were soon to discover their friend was not merely fleeing the scene. The moment they cleared the threshold she ducked behind the open door, motioning for Ron and Harry to follow suit.

"What are we doing?" groaned Ron, "It's lunchtime." His stomach growled in agreement.

"Shh. Something's going on here and I, for one, want to know what."

Harry, however, didn't argue. He had little appetite; butterflies had wreaked havoc on his stomach from sitting so close to Saryn for the entire class period. Besides, he was curious himself.

The classroom slowly emptied with no one paying any attention to the assembly behind the door. When the last student left, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stacked like a totem pole to peer through the thin crack made by the hinges between the door and wall.

Snape stood imposingly at the front of the classroom with Saryn waiting in front of him with an expectant expression.

"Miss Sylvany, I'm not entirely sure what kind of liberties you've enjoyed elsewhere," he intoned. "However, in my classroom, and indeed out of it as well, I demand a certain amount of respect. I'm aware of your circumstance. But surely know you are not the only student here to have suffered misfortune, and it is no excuse. Perhaps you think that because you are a member of my own House that you will be more easily forgiven. If so, I am here to inform you that you are mistaken, as I am very likely to be harsher on that account. I expect there to be no cause or occasion for me to repeat myself." 

"I honestly didn't mean any disrespect," she replied. "I assure you I do respect you, and I don't presume to be superior to you in any way, really. But I won't cower like the rest. I'm not another trembling Malfoy riding your robe tails and begging your approval. And I happen to think your prejudice for Harry and his friends is a little unprofessional of you, and I don't mind saying so."

The trio behind the door almost gasped in unison.

Snape glowered at her. "You know absolutely nothing about my relationship with any of the other students and so are in no position to criticism me for it," he hissed. The two stared at each other for several tense seconds. "At least do not undermine my authority in front of the others," he said at last, almost defeatedly.

"You have my word, professor."

He then, almost reluctantly, produced a small phial filled with a pale blue liquid from the folds of his robe, which Saryn took gratefully, sighing as though with relief while she stowed it in her own pocket. Behind the door Hermione narrowed her eyes in intrigue and chewed her bottom lip.

"I assume the serum is working?" he asked.

"Perfectly, thank you, professor."

He nodded, then did not so much dismiss her as turn his back and begin to ignore her.

" _What_ are you three doing?"

The spies jumped simultaneously, bouncing off one another not unlike the Three Stooges, all eventually ending up on the floor in the most ungraceful positions. Draco Malfoy chuckled at them in his cruel, condescending way. He had obviously come back to fetch Saryn, but no one had time to stammer an excuse, as she suddenly emerged. To their surprise, Draco did not betray their presence to her. Instead, he looked pointedly at Harry as he slipped his arm familiarly around the girl's waist and pulled her in for a light but lingering kiss. Harry felt more murderous towards him than usual, and if Ron hadn't been sitting on him he just might have done something foolish.

However, Saryn seemed to tolerate it all very well. She even smiled at Draco and took his arm, and Draco threw Harry one last triumphant sneer before leading his prize to Lunch.

 

* * *

 

Draco was slightly disturbed by Saryn's behavior in Potions. What was she thinking, speaking to the Professor like that? As he watched her over his cauldron during class, he resolved to have another word with her. Hadn't he already warned her about those kinds of people? Surely she realized any typical, self-respecting Slytherin would not only have left Granger to her own devices, but actually would have delighted in Snape's decision... _not_ play a saviour. But if Draco had surmised anything since she had arrived, it was that Saryn wasn't typical, and he sensed something conniving, almost malicious beneath her placid exterior. He found it wildly erotic. Who knows, perhaps she had something in mind, like sabotaging their potions. Now,  _that_ would be gloriously Slytherin-esque.

After class had ended, Saryn had asked Draco to take her books and things back to the common room so that they could proceed directly to the Great Hall after Snape had 'said his piece'. And though Draco resented being bossed around--no matter how sweetly or tactfully--he deemed it worthwhile to obey. So long as she relied on him, he obviously didn't have to worry about competition, and with the exception of her little remark in the corridors before class, she generally refrained from causing him any public humiliation. Besides, every boy in school was madly jealous of him, which was delicious.

But the true icing on the cake was the way it obviously irked Harry Potter. He'd seen those green eyes, full of yearning, drift over at them during meals and while in the corridors. He had to admit, he didn't exactly like the idea of her spending the rest of the term at his table in Potions, but with Weasley and Granger between them, he wasn't too worried. And anyway, Harry Potter simply didn't seem like Saryn's type.

Draco wasn't too worried, even though he and Saryn had yet to _seriously_ snog. But then, she had only been there a week, and that problem would likely be solved soon, as he was planning something unforgettable for their first visit to Hogsmeade together that weekend.

He could see it now: an early evening candlelight picnic, a box of Honeydukes' finest chocolate, a bottle of wine pilfered from Rosmerta's...Saryn would be putty in his hands.

Draco was fully envisioning this evening on his way back to Potions to retrieve his trophy. Was actually so intent on it that he hardly noticed the 'Holy Trinity' crouched by the door of the classroom until he was practically on top of them. The looks on their faces when he spoke! It was quite gratifying to see Potter flat of his stomach with Weasley perched atop him like a startled chimp. Those three had always been too nosy for their own good, what a perfect opportunity to rub his relationship with Saryn in Potter's face.

"You seem in an awfully good mood," Saryn remarked on their way to the Great Hall.

"What boy wouldn't be with a beautiful girl like you on his arm?" said Draco, following the remark with the most debonair smile he could muster.

"Hmm," was her only reply.

"So...did Snape give you some more serum?" he ventured. Though she hadn't seemed to pick up on anything for several days, Draco still wasn't certain he entirely trusted her.

"He did. But I hate taking it on an empty stomach. And you know how it disorients me, so I hope you don't mind escorting me to my room after and picking up any homework for me from our afternoon class."

Draco sighed. "No problem at all," he said, trying to sound convincing.


	3. Chapter 3

_~_  
_First he loved my accent_  
_How his knees could bend_  
_~_

"Harry! How many chocolate frogs are you _getting?_ "

"Shh, Hermione. He's sharing...right, Harry?"

"What? Sure, Ron. Is that all you can carry?" Harry asked distractedly as he grabbed a second bag of Every Flavor Beans.

Of course Ron could carry more. If...

"Here, Hermione, hold these."

Hermione made a disgruntled noise as she struggled to catch the stray frogs slipping from atop of the mountain of candy that was being dumped into her reluctant arms.  "Harry," she said from somewhere behind them, "is there any _reason_ why you are buying out Honeydukes?"

"I like chocolate," was his unconvincing reply as they heaved the goodies onto the counter. The girl at the register gave Harry an odd look. He shrugged and repeated, rather more shyly, "I like chocolate?"

They left the shop with no fewer than three large bags laden with various treats. Harry had spent more on candy in the past ten minutes than Ron's family had spent on all his fifth year school texts combined.

"Harry," Hermione ventured in a concerned voice, "are you alright? I mean, there's nothing you want to talk about, is there?"

Ron groaned and rolled his eyes at her, already tearing into what he considered his share of the candy while Harry advanced several steps ahead of them. A thin chocolate frog leg protruding from his lips was still twitching slightly when he spoke. "Hermione, why do you _always_ feel the need to question good fortune?"

"Just because you're blinded by free treats, doesn't mean I am," she snapped. "Something's obviously wrong, and has been ever since the arrival of that...that..." She trailed off, perhaps thinking it better not to broach the argument in the middle of the main path through Hogsmeade.

"Harry's fine," Ron insisted. "He just has a bit of a sweet tooth, he told you so himself. And he'll tell you again, right, Harry? Harry? Hey! where are you off to?"

Harry was proceeding determinedly towards Hogwarts. "I'm going back to the common room." 

"What? Without having a single mug of butterbeer at Rosmerta's? But we haven't even set foot in Zonko's! And I wanted to find something really nasty so I could get back at Fred for-"

"You go ahead," Harry interrupted. "You don't have to follow me back."

"I told you something was wrong!" Hermione hissed to Ron who was looking after his retreating friend in undisguised bafflement. Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried look.

"Oi there, Harry. Wait up! You're right. It'll take us all night to open all these frogs. And hey, if we come across a Matilda Munkshank, d'ya mind if I keep it? I traded mine to Dean for Lemmy Gurkins. And a couple of other choice cards besides," he added in a mutter under his breath, "but it was worth it."

"Who, now?" Hermione asked.

"Lemmy Gurkins," Ron responded as though it were a household name. "One time keeper and former coach of the Chudley Cannons, leading them through their first undefeated season in half a century? Member of the International Association of Quidditch Hall of Fame and one of my _personal_ heroes?"

Hermione just rolled her eyes and jogged to keep up with the two.

An hour later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in Gryffindor. Between them, the small study table had been transformed into a writhing, twitching mound of chocolate. After the first dozen or so, they had abandoned the idea of eating what they opened and now just set the enchanted candy free in the Common Room. Empty boxes littered the floor.

"Who's that?"

"Derwent Shimply," Harry read aloud in answer. "At one time considered the World's Funniest Wizard, Derwent once ate an entire venomous tentacula plant on a dare. He survived, but his face may forever remain purple."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then simultaneously nodded, and Derwent went in the 'keeper' pile.

"Sacharrissa Tugwood," said Ron, dodging Sacharrissa's accompanying frog. "The first person to use magic for cosmetic purposes. Discovered the acne curing properties of bubotuber pus. Her tombstone reads: Thanks to Sacharissa the world is a more beautiful place."

Ron raised his eyebrow. "Naw," they uttered in unison. Sacharrisa was tossed aside, narrowly missing Hermione.

"Really," she said with a shake of her head. "How old are you two again?"

"I'll have you know I'm a serious collector," said Ron, lifting his chin. "It's an investment, Hermione. Why, one day, these might be worth a fair stack of Galleons. Plus, they're educational. I'm surprised you don't collect them yourself."

"If I want to know something about famous Witches and Wizards, I'll go to the library."

"You do that anyway," Ron said in exasperation. "Besides, hopping candy makes it all much more interesting."

Hermione rolled her eyes and handed Ron another unopened frog.

"Hey look, Harry! It's one of you."

 **Harry James Potter**  
**aka**  
**The Boy Who Lived**

Harry is perhaps most renowned for being the only known  
survivor of the Unforgivable _Killing Curse_ and is widely thought responsible for the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,  
a feat made even more astonishing by the fact that he was a mere one year old at the time.

More recently, in his first year at Hogwarts School of  
Witchcraft and Wizardry, Potter added to his notoriety  
by becoming the youngest Quidditch player of the last  
hundred years.

"It must be kinda old. You've done tons more stuff than that since then," Ron pointed out. "But then they'd probably have to space it all over at least a few cards."

Harry groaned. He hated his 'notoriety.'

Hermione took it from Ron and turned it over to reveal a very young Harry in scarlet Quidditch robes, cheesing at them, snitch in hand. "Y'know, I forget you're famous half of the time," Ron said as they examined it. "I mean...you're Harry. Not 'Harry James Potter'. It's weird seeing you on a card."

"It's weird _being_ on a card," Harry replied, "but I suppose I should be used to it. At least at this point I pretty much know as much about myself as the rest of the world does." He took the card from them and pocketed it with a sigh.

Saryn hadn't known him. She had talked to him and had liked him and it had had nothing whatsoever to do with his fame or reputation. She had like him for his own sake. And they had so much in common: both orphaned, both raised in the Muggle world, both forbidden from doing magic until coming to Hogwarts.

She _had_ liked him, hadn't she? And she knew all about him now, right? No doubt Malfoy had filled her in.

Ha! Harry was sure _that_ must have been a fair description. Maybe he should give her his card. Harry had a sudden mental image of himself sauntering up to Saryn with a debonair smile and a wink, speaking in a voice reminiscent of one Professor Lockhart,  _"Here's my card. I signed it, free of charge. Call me."_

"Look at this," Hermione said bringing Harry back to reality. She had given in and was shucking the cards as well. She showed her find to her companions.

"Hey, she looks just like the new girl," Ron said; as always, master of the obvious. "Definitely got the same hair."

Harry took it from them. A much older version of Saryn stared at him with the same knowing expression.

 **Mariyn Sylvany 1843-1955**  
Auror and world famous Seer. Besides helping bring an end to the Dark Wizard Grindelwald's following, her visions saved many lives by accurately predicting not only the Swedish Goblin uprising of 1867 but also the Weasel Pox epidemic of 1902.

"The granddaughter of an Auror? Raised by Muggles? How strange." Hermione had 'that look', the one she always got before tearing off to the library without a word of explanation. Before she had a chance, Harry rose to leave himself.

"Y'know guys," he said, the sullenness he had hoped to cure with chocolate returned to his voice, "I think I'm going to go for a few around the pitch."

"But, Harry, we still have a whole other bag to open," Ron whined.

"Maybe tomorrow," he said, making his way toward the staircase.

Hermione elbowed Ron impatiently.

"Eh, want me to come too? I saw this great new move over the summer. Charlie took us all to watch the Holyhead Harpies/Wimbourne Wasps match. And the Wasps' seeker, Harry, you wouldn't believe this thing he did. It looked like a Wronski feint but then at the last second he-"

"Really, Ron, Hermione, I understand you guys are trying to cheer me up. But I just have some things on my mind and need some time alone. I'll be okay."

Without waiting for an answer Harry went upstairs to retrieved his Firebolt. He didn't even bother passing back through the Common Room. Instead, he swung wide the large dormitory windows and flew out of them, descending in a slow, graceful spiral to the earth below.

Flying a few feet above the ground, he allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts as he watched his shadow glide beside him on the green grass. The sun would soon set but was still high enough to warm him...yet also low enough to glare, annoyingly unavoidable. For this reason, Harry kept his eyes lowered and hooded. For this reason, he didn't see her until he was already too close to slip away unnoticed.

Sitting in the very center of the Quidditch field was Saryn, back to the sun, staring up at the towering bleachers. It seemed strange seeing her there. With few exceptions, Harry rarely saw her in the daylight. It was always the Potions dungeon or darkened corridors that he saw when he thought of her, where she was the brightest object in view. Seeing her in the warm rays of the sun seemed somehow...tragic. Like seeing the full moon in the mid-afternoon sky, perfect still but paled, its beauty wronged by the contending brilliance of the sun, deserving instead the inky expanse of midnight to accentuate its glory.

Taming his butterflies, Harry dismounted and strolled over to her. "Hello, Saryn. I'm surprised to see you here."

"I'd never been here," she shrugged. "I didn't have anything else to do, so I decided to come have a look."

"You didn't go into Hogsmeade?"

"Well, I wanted a little time to myself."

"I'm sorry, am I bothering you? I can go," Harry said quickly.

"No no, stay. I suppose what I should have said was, I wanted a little time away from Draco."

Harry almost stopped breathing. There was no room for air in his lungs, as it was taken up by the surge of hope that swelled in his heart at that remark.

_You have your chance. Say something...don't just stand here like an idiot._

Harry couldn't seem to bring himself, though. When the silence became almost uncomfortable, she spoke.

"It's all so very...massive. Do you really play all the way up there?" she asked pointing a finger skyward.

Harry nodded mutely.

"But aren't you afraid you might, well, fall off?"

"It happens," he replied with a shrug, finally finding his voice. There wasn't anything in the world he found easier to talk about than Quidditch, even to such a pretty girl. "In fact, it's happened to me a couple of times."

She appeared absolutely horrified.

"But it's not all that bad," he rushed to assure her. "I mean, I'm still here. Once you get up there, it's not scary. Actually, it's really quite liberating."

Saryn didn't seem to have much faith in that comment.

_Am I really doing this? No, you're not. You're standing, staring at her like a moron. C'mon!_

The question wanted desperately to escape his lips _._

_Relax, be suave...just ask her!_

"So...have you ever been on a broom?"

"Oh, no," she said emphatically.

"Would you like to go for a spin? Really, unless you suddenly lose consciousness or something, there's nothing to be afraid of."

Saryn bit her lower lip and eyed the Firebolt, obviously very tempted. He mounted the broom and held it low for her to do the same. "Come on. I'll be right here beside you."

"And that thing will carry us both?"

"Of course."

After a few more seconds of deliberation, she was on her feet. "But I'm wearing a skirt."

"Then ride sidesaddle."

"And you're certain you won't let me fall?"

"Come here," he said, politely taking her hand to help her onto the broom. Harry reached an arm around either side of her and grasped hold of the broom in front of them both. Saryn had to wrap her arm around Harry's shoulder to allow him to lean forward and hold the broom, and his face was deliciously close to her collarbone. He was suddenly really very dizzy. Everything seemed to lose substance...except the presence of her. He was so close he could smell the scent of her freshly laundered robes, the aroma of her skin, the perfume of her hair. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

"See?" he managed to say, "All snug."

"All snug," she repeated softly. They looked at each other for the longest time.

_Do something!_

Harry swallowed hard. There were a dozen somethings Harry wanted to do, but in the end, he did none of them and instead kicked off, pointing them toward the heavens. As soon as his feet left the ground, Harry knew he was going to be just fine. The familiar surge of confidence he always felt when flying swept away all uncertainties. He was in complete control: of himself, of the situation. Saryn grasped at his collar, almost choking him, but when he leveled off and began a few slow laps around the field, she relaxed, releasing him altogether to twist this way and that, looking at everything below and around them. It seemed she had forgotten Harry entirely...until she turned and gave him the sweetest, fascinated smile.

It was wonderful! To see her so happy and know that he, Harry, had caused it. But it was nicer when she had had her arm around him, he thought with a frown, and a mischievous thought floated through Harry's mind.

Without warning, he threw the broom into a dive. Saryn gasped and clung to him fiercely. He executed a few masterful loops before bring the broom to a halt high above the ground.

"Don't _do_ that!" she scolded, giggling despite herself. Harry was grinning from ear to ear and couldn't help but laugh at her. The danger had passed, but she still hugged him, one arm around his waist clutching at the small of his back, the other hand twined around his neck. Harry could feel her heart pound beneath the swell of the small breasts pressed against him, crushing closer with each deep breath. Without thinking, Harry brought his hand off the broom to slip it around Saryn's tiny beveled waist and pull her even closer to him. His heart was pounding in his chest. The rays of the setting sun on her hair ignited a fiery halo around them as her impossibly long tresses swirled about them in the warm breeze. Time stood still.

Harry wondered if first kisses were always so sweet. He was convinced that, had it been any more exquisite, he might have died of it. Her lips were like velvet, warm and yielding. Harry lost all sense of where he was and of himself, conscious of nothing but where they two touched.

It was she who broke away. Had to be, for if left to Harry, the kiss would have lasted through tomorrow morning.

Harry nuzzled at her cheek, unwilling to separate completely. "So...how do you like flying?"

She grinned. "I think I could grow very accustomed to it." She sighed, and despite his reluctance, she pulled back. "Isn't this a tad unseemly? A Slytherin and a Gryffindor snogging on the Quidditch field? Whatever will our friends think?" she asked in a way that plainly said she couldn't care less.

"Who says they have to know?" Harry grinned.

"Ooh. A secret love affair."

_...Love Affair..._

She lifted her lithe fingers to smooth the raven strands from his forehead and gazed at Harry dreamily, her large brown eyes resting on his scar. "The famous Harry Potter. I'm a lucky girl."

"Special, most definitely...but lucky? I'm not exactly in high demand."

"I can't imagine why."

"I think maybe all the girls here are terrified to be close to me. I suppose it _is_ dangerous, risking getting caught in the crossfire. Or perhaps no one wants to get too attached to me just in case Voldemort succeeds in killing me one of these years." He said it lightly, but he couldn't hide the weariness in his voice.

She snuggled closer to him, if that was possible, and gave him a playful smile. "I like a little danger. It makes life much more interesting, don't you think? But are _you_ certain about this? You never know. I might turn out to be more perilous than a host of Dark Lords," she teased.

Harry didn't doubt it for an instant. "I'll take my chances," he said leaning in for another kiss.

They stayed out until long after dark when Harry, fearing someone would eventually come looking for them, lowered them back down to earth. Their goodbye was prolonged and reluctant and several times voiced before it was finally achieved. Harry lay in bed for hours replaying the evening in his mind's eye, memorizing every detail before succumbing to dreams of velvet kisses and mid-afternoon moonlight.

 

* * *

  
The letter had come unexpectedly as Draco was making his way back to Slytherin from Hogsmeade. He had hated going without Saryn, but had thought it might be a nice opportunity to pick up a gift for her. Though, there was little in the small Wizarding village Draco felt lived up to his discerning and expensive standards. After a long and disappointing search, he bought a couple of candles from Zonko's whose flames changed colors with one's mood. They were a bit novel but subtle and subdued enough not to be tacky. Then he stopped into Rosmerta's where he managed to summon a tasteful and very pricey bottle of red wine while the lovely barkeep was distracted. He was heading back to the school with his modest finds when the Malfoy family owl came swooping before him. Looking quickly to see that no one was around, Draco motioned for the bird to follow him to a less conspicuous spot off the main path where he relieved it of its burdens. He opened the letter immediately. It was in his father's distinguished hand:

_Draco, it has come to my attention that Slytherin house has had a rather recent, rather unusual new addition. The girl's circumstances are well known to me and my associates._

'Great,' thought Draco glancing at the wine bottle under his arm. 'He's probably heard she's Muggle-raised and wants to warn me not to sully our reputation.' He read on with dread.

_You are to be very sensitive to the girl's situation. This is surely a confusing and impressionable time for her. Attempt to indoctrinate her to the mentality of her house, as undoubtedly her Muggle upbringing has put her at a disadvantage. Also, it would be very propitious should you succeed in winning the girl's affections. See that she feels accepted and otherwise provided for. No desire, regardless of expense, should be ignored. Enclosed is a gift you might present when it is timely, and extend to her an invitation to spend the upcoming holidays here at Malfoy Manor. I trust you will not disappoint me._

Draco blinked at the note he held. He had just been instructed--practically ordered--to woo Saryn, at any expense. He fumbled to open the accompanying parcel. Draco could hardly believe his eyes. Wrapped in immaculate black velvet was a small box containing a very beautiful silver pendant necklace encrusted with green jewels. He held it up to examine it. Two intricately fashioned snakes twined around each other, jade marked the pattern on their backs and their eyes were denoted by four fiery emeralds. It reminded Draco of something he'd once seen in his father's study. No doubt it was priceless. Draco was a little embittered by the fact that his father could give a complete stranger such a thing when Draco had had to beg for months to get his new model broomstick.

The owl, who had been waiting all this while in a nearby tree, hooted and ruffled its feathers.

"Go on," he instructed, "I'll write Father when I return to the Castle."

In a moment it was gone and Draco stood for a long while staring at where it had disappeared into the rays of the setting sun.

There was no answer at Saryn's door when Draco knocked, and while this was not unusual it was disappointing. He wondered if she were out or just ignoring him.

"It's a bit soon for a gift like this, and I should write Father anyway, while Crabbe and Goyle are still out," he thought aloud to himself making his way back to his room. His two friends had thankfully kept their distance since Draco set his mind on winning Saryn. Though, Draco had a feeling it was more out of confusion and probably hurt feelings than understanding, as neither of them had yet discovered, or really seem all that interested in, the wonders of the opposite sex. He made a point of giving them treats from his personal stash. As much as he enjoyed knowing he had a bag full of sweets under his bed all his own, he wasn't really a sweets kind of person, so he typically gave them those things that were a week from being inedible (they never chewed them long enough to taste them or really tell the difference). They shared a few remarks about their mutual hatreds from behind their bed curtains before drifting off to sleep, and this kept them placated and loyal and bought him plenty of space.

Draco stowed the necklace in a secret compartment in his trunk at the foot of his bed and sat at his desk, his jet black raven's quill already in hand.

 _'The girl's conquest is well underway,'_   he wrote. ' _When it is timely, I shall present her with your generous gift and extend to her your invitation. I would rather wait until I'm certain they won't be refused. Miss Sylvany is quickly becoming accustomed to our values and expectations, with my assistance of course. I will write you again when she accepts. You can rely on me, Father.'_

Could he really? Draco certainly hoped so. Though, he'd learned long ago never to express any signs of weakness or doubt to his father.

This was so unlike him. He didn't doubt himself, he was a Malfoy! Still, it was different with her. All his life, his name had either incited malice or admiration, and typically any who seemed indifferent to his heritage were not counted by him to be worthy of consideration. But the fact that his name and affiliations meant nothing to Saryn one way or the other caused unwelcome turmoil in Draco. And now that she was obviously very important to his father, for some reason he still could not grasp, the pressure piled higher.

He rallied his confidence. What did he have to worry about? After all, he was Draco Malfoy.


	4. Chapter 4

_~_

_And you would if I would_  
_But you never would_

_~_

The next morning Harry all but skipped to the Great Hall for breakfast, and as he slid in to his usual spot opposite Ron and Hermione, he offered them the first genuine smile they'd seen in days.

"Good Morning," he beamed.

"Morning," Hermione returned but not brightly. Ron only moaned.

"Alright there, Ron?" Harry asked, noticing his friend looking uncharacteristically pale.

"He'll be alright," Hermione assured, shaking her head at Ron. "He tried to finish off the frogs you opened last night."

"Well it seemed a shame to leave them all just lying there," he groaned. "Besides, isn't chocolate supposed to be good for you?"

"Well, in moderation when attacked by dark forces, but not by the pound when you are perfectly well. Honestly, Ron." She turned to Harry, "You seem in higher spirits this morning."

"Well...er...I found a bit of... _comfort_  on the pitch last night."

"Good," she nodded curtly. "I'm glad you've finally accepted the fact that that Sylvany girl doesn't want to have anything to do with you."

Harry didn't suppress his shock.

"Harry, I've been one of your best friends for five years. You think I can't tell what's been bothering you? You'd do well to steer clear of her anyway. Even if she isn't a 'typical' Slytherin, she seems awfully close to Malfoy, so you obviously can't trust her taste in company. Personally, if she _had_ shown interest, I'd wonder just what she thinks you're actually like. I mean, if she knew you at all she'd know you wouldn't get mixed up with those kinds of people."

"You're probably right, Hermione. I appreciate it," he said when her tirade had ended. He decided to play along. This clearly wasn't the time for confessions.

Hermione adopted the same relieved expression she always wore when she felt she had succeeded in talking some sense into her illogical companions. Thoroughly self-satisfied, she concentrated on her meal.

Harry turned to do the same, when he felt something strike his leg and fall to the floor. He glanced down and saw a folded piece of parchment lying beside his foot, and then he glanced over at the Slytherin table and saw Saryn had slipped in. She gave him a subtle wink and returned her attention to Malfoy who was speaking very animatedly, and quite obliviously, beside her. Harry was just about to bend down and retrieve the note when Ron spoke.

"What was that?"

Harry looked up abruptly to catch Ron peering curiously over the edge of the table and then ducking to look beneath. Harry placed his foot over the parchment just in time.

"What was what?" Hermione asked.

"I was sitting here, trying to ignore my eggs, when I saw something fly at Harry."

Hermione cocked her head and looked at Harry

"Must have been a bug," he said nervously.

"Didn't look like a bug. It was really big if it was," Ron insisted.

"You aren't feeling well, Ron, you must be seeing things."

"Since when do stomach aches induce hallucinations?" Ron retorted. Hermione rolled her eyes. Just then Harry's spoon went clattering to the floor.

"Oops, silly me," he mumbled, bending to retrieve it. He scooped up the note with the spoon and slid it into the pocket of his robes before straightening to face his friends. Hermione wasn't paying any attention to him, but Ron eyed him with mild suspicion.

Harry finished his breakfast in record time. "Well," he said pushing back his plate, "I have a bit of homework to finish up for professor Binns. Ron, you wanna head out to the pitch after and show me that new move?"

"Alright," Ron replied rather sulkily. Without further excuses Harry strode swiftly from the Hall, waiting until he'd rounded the corner into an empty corridor on the way to Gryffindor Tower before fishing the note from his pocket.

His heart hammered in his chest, and he actually smelled the paper before unfolding it with shaking fingers.

_Meet me in the abandoned observation tower tonight after everyone's gone to bed._

It was signed in vivid scarlet lipstick in the exact impression of Saryn's full cupid's bow lips. Harry smiled to himself and felt his cheeks flush, recalling the electric sensation of those red lips brushing his own.

* * *

 

"Draco, dearest, it really is quite late," Draco mocked under his breath as he threw himself on his bed like a pouting toddler. Every night for the past week, it had been the same; Saryn had shooed him away with only a kiss on the cheek and no explanation other than the late hour. Draco was becoming increasingly impatient. She didn't object to hanging on his arm all day or dragging him about as if on a leash, until nightfall, when they might be able to find some intimate time together in her conveniently private room. But no, as soon as the dormitories grew quiet, he was expelled with promises to meet for breakfast or after to walk to class together.

_Of course...she needs me to carry her books._

Draco opened the trunk at the foot of his bed and scowled at the still-corked wine bottle there and the unlit mood candles. The necklace his father had sent had been carried in his shirt pocket where he felt it safest.

It wasn't that Draco was losing interest, despite her behaviour. It was quite the opposite. The fact that she didn't simper and fawn like most girls had caused something to grow in Draco that he never thought he'd feel for a potential romantic conquest: respect. So, he would have remained persistent even if his father hadn't laid such expectations on him. But his father had. And because he had, Draco felt more urgency was needed than he might otherwise attempt in this situation. Everyday, Draco expected an owl from the elder Malfoy, demanding a progress report. When he learned Draco had yet to reach second base, he would be very put out.

But then, his father wouldn't learn that...because Draco would never admit it to him.

Draco took hold of the wine bottle and had half a mind to open it. Getting exceptionally drunk seemed like a very good idea.

Did Saryn think they were still in grammar school, passing notes and holding hands in private? Hell, even in grammar school he'd done more than that. He threw the bottle back into the trunk and slammed it closed, waking one of his trollish roommates.

"Go back to sleep, Goyle."

No sooner had the command passed his lips than did Goyle's gurgling snores resume.

Just how long did she think he'd tolerate her coldness to his advances? Well, Draco refused to be a lap dog any longer, he promised himself, slamming his fist into his open palm. He was going to go right this instant, waking her from her beauty sleep if need be, and demand to know where he stood.

He strode resolutely down the hall of the girl's dormitories, coming to a tentative halt in front of Saryn's door. This was it. It was now or never. With a deep breath and a determined nod, he stepped confidently forward and raised his fist to knock, but before his knuckles came in contact with the wood his toe hit the door and it swung open.

The room was dark within.

"Saryn," he whispered, but there was no answer. He fished for his wand.

_"Lumos"_

A pale blue light erupted from the end of his wand and illuminated the room. There was her bed, still made, and elsewhere there was no sign of her; and in the small room, there was really nowhere for her to hide. A noise behind him made him instinctively extinguish his wand and turn. Draco crept toward the common room. In the dim illumination of the dying fire he spied movement near the secret passage.

 _Someone was sneaking out._ And Draco was fairly certain he knew who it was.

Before the stones concealing the passage rematerialized, Draco was through them, leaping to the nearby shadows as the midnight marauder only yards from him stopped and seemed to be listening intently for the sound of pursuit. Of course, this was not Draco's first past curfew venture, and he was amazingly adept at not getting caught...at least when those he stalked did not possess psychic abilities. After a moment, however, she continued hurriedly on her way with Draco on her heels.

She led him to an unused observatory tower--one of a handful--which had been dubbed Snogger's Peek. It was once a favorite site for clandestine rendezvous by hormonal couples, but because of tight patrolling once upon a time, it had been abandoned for safer hideaways. However, apparently confident in their past success, security was once again lax.

At the top of the tower steps, in front of the observatory doors, Draco's guide stopped and, after a quick glance at the shadows, pulled off her cloak and shook out her luxurious red waves. Once primped, Saryn gave a soft rap in a sort of code, and the handle turned with a creek.

"Whoever it is," Draco thought, "I'll slaughter him. I'll find the most wretched curse in existence and blast him into incurable and eternal misery. By gods, he'd better be at least as handsome as me, if not as rich."

As Draco was imagining several fates worse than death, the door swung open revealing...

_Harry Bloody Potter._

Harry Potter was smiling broadly and wrapping _his--_ Draco's--girlfriend in a warm embrace. Harry Potter was _kissing_ her! Draco almost lost his balance but caught himself before stumbling from the concealing shadows into the candlelight spilling from the open door. Half a dozen candles burned within on a table beside two bottles of pumpkin juice.

As Draco stared, dumbfounded, the door closed, leaving him alone in the dark passageway.

Of all people...

And he was serving her pumpkin juice, for Merlin's sake! By gods, Draco had Merlot in his dorm and a small fortune in his pocket, and she was with St. Potter in Snogger's Peek sucking down pumpkin juice?!

His hatred for the boy boiled to new heights.

_Well, he's not going to get away with this._

He wouldn't curse Potter, Draco decided. He wouldn't even confront them. He'd do something worse...he'd win Saryn away from Harry. He need only be more aggressive. Time to make _her_ respect _him_. And come Christmas, he and Saryn would be curled together, wearing nothing but tinsel in front of the fireplace at Malfoy Manor.


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

  
~  
_You've got to give something sometimes_  
_When you're the sweetest cherry_  
_In an apple pie_  
~

  
  
The next day, Draco was considerably colder--if no less responsive--to Saryn's minor requests. And Draco could tell, though she said nothing, that she noted this change but thankfully didn't respond to it by cranking up the saccharin. All in all, the day passed like many before it, with Draco offering his arm and carrying her things. But that evening, when she began to say her good nights and offer the same paltry excuses, Draco decided to change the routine

He stopped at the door, turning his back to it. "Did you sleep well last night?"  
  
Saryn eyed him curiously. "Surprisingly so."  
  
"I'm sure," he said with a roll of his eyes.  
  
"And yourself?"  
  
Draco visibly noted but did not answer her question. "You must get more rest than anyone I've ever met. And here I thought, from our first encounter, that you were a night owl."  
  
"Well, first impressions can be misleading," she countered. She appeared to have seen through his questioning and seemed to dislike being subject to it. "You see, I thought you were a prattish, spoiled elitist. But now I realize you aren't nearly as pratty as I suspected. Now, if you will excuse me, it is that time."  
  
"No, I don't think I will."  
  
"Don't think you will _what?_ "   
  
"Excuse you, or myself from your presence. I think I'm going to be selfish tonight and deprive you of a little beauty sleep. Merlin knows you don't really need it." Draco raised an eyebrow and studied her from head to toe as he said this, following the look with a fetching, flirtatious smile. The compliment softened her demeanor a bit.  
  
"And what makes you think I'll allow that?"  
  
"A feeling."  
  
"A feeling?" she asked cynically. "Where, in your heart of hearts?"  
  
"Well, no actually. In my pants pocket," Draco responded smoothly, or as smoothly as such a comment can be made.  
  
Saryn sneered and raised her eyebrow. "Oh,  _really?_  In your pants?"

Draco smiled wickedly. She was playing right into his hands.  
  
"Yes. In fact, why don't you slip those pretty fingers of yours in my pocket and feel for yourself?"

Saryn clucked her tongue and reached for her hair brush; step one in her nightly pre-bed ritual. "Really, Draco," she said into the mirror at him as she drew it through her impressive locks, "you should know me well enough by now-"  
  
"Should I?"

She pursed her lips and continued, "-to know I don't respond well to crudeness. I honestly thought you had more class than that."  
  
Draco brought a hand to his heart in mock offense. "Crudeness? You hurt me." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the necklace his father had sent, dangling it in her direction. "Does this look crude to you?"

The disapproving impatience in her expression turned to lustful awe, and she gasped, pivoting to face him, her eyes prone on the treasure in his hand.  
  
"Well, would you like it? Or shall I return it? Or perhaps Pansy is more keen on jewelry than you are."

She narrowed her eyes at that comment but seemed more intrigued than put out. "Is that really for me?" she asked coquettishly.  
  
"Well, it certainly doesn't suit _me._ It's a bit too fancy."  
  
She reached her hand for it and started to advance, but Draco pulled it back and slipped it back inside his pocket, and she threw him a frustrated pout.  
  
"Well, do you want it or not?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning back on the door.  
  
Saryn regarded him for a long while. She had apparently underestimated him. Draco doubted Potter was capable of such mischievous subterfuge, but he sensed Saryn was a sensual being, and sly herself, and as he had expected, she related to and responded well to his ploy. She seemed, now, to actually be enjoying it. Though, Draco suspected she wasn't nearly so tempted by his gift as she was by his challenge.

 _Draco, you are a genius,_ he praised himself.

Saryn gave him a devious smile and gracefully swished over to where he stood, locking eyes with him while she worked her hand into the depths of his pocket. Then, her eyes widened ever so slightly.

It was all Draco could do to refrain from reacting. As both of them knew she would, she encountered more there than the necklace, though obviously she had underestimated him on more counts than one. Draco knew he was, proportionally, large for his size and build; no porn star, but definitely well endowed. And while he was not exactly 'proud' of the fact, so to say, he was realistically quite confident.

Something quickened in Saryn, and her cheeks flushed, and she seemed to withdraw her hand only reluctantly. Draco took the necklace from her, eyes still locked, then gently guided her by the shoulders to turn so he could clasp it for her. She took it in her hand and studied it while he did, evidently impressed.  
  
"It's past your bedtime. You must be exhausted," Draco teased when he was finished with it. "I suppose I should go."  
  
Saryn rounded on him. "Go?" she asked in her familiar, subtlety authoritative tone. "You aren't going anywhere, Draco, dear." She slipped an arm up to rest on his shoulder, her hand cradling the back of his neck.

Draco was absolutely eating up her expression and decided to play the situation for all it was worth. "Really? And what if I'm tired myself? Just what do you think should inspire me to stay?"  
  
"Oh, you want _inspiration?_ " She gave herself fully to his wiles and placed a hand lightly on each of his hips before sinking very slowly to her knees.

_Draco, my boy, you have hit the jackpot._

With talent Draco always suspected she possessed, Saryn carefully unzipped his trousers with her teeth. He felt the pressure on his erection ease off and was bracing himself for what was next, but she only rose again, and reached up to undo the buttons of his shirt under his tie.

Draco was slightly disappointed. "We're to get naked then?"  
  
"No, you're to get naked."  
  
"Oh, well, that doesn't seem quite fair. And besides, I'm sorta shy y'know?"

Saryn rolled her eyes at him as if to say, 'don't play this game with me, I wrote the rulebook,' and took his tie in a firm grasp.  
  
"You need inspiration. Well, so do I."

She pulled him down into their first real kiss. And what a kiss! It was not passionate or hungry, but deep and slow and artfully erotic. Draco thought he might explode on her skirt if lasted much longer. But as if on cue, it eased back, became soft and playful, so she could again concentrate on undressing him, which slowly but surely she did, trailing kisses down his neck and chest and stomach, chasing after every freshly freed button, until at last, she was again on her knees. What followed was an experience Draco will never in his life forget.

But then, over the following few days, she didn't give him a chance to.

* * *

  
  
It was 4:00 am before Harry finally decided to leave--a full hour past the time he and Saryn typically parted company--and she had never even shown. Harry anxiously hoped she hadn't been caught in the halls. He, of course, always wore his cloak. And at times, he felt a little selfish for not offering to lend it to her. But then, she didn't have his record with Filch and Snape.

At least, he hoped she hadn't christened one that night.

He couldn't know for sure until morning. For whatever reason, Harry spent the night alone, fiddling with all the strange mirrored equipment, staring at the cold, lonesome stars, drinking both bottles of butterbeer, and finishing all but one of the cauldron cakes he'd brought. Until tonight, he'd never realized how still it was in the observatory without the soft echo of voices and the rustle of garments as two people moved to embrace; or just how chilly it was without the warmth of another beside him, how the stones seemed to emanate the cold. It made him look forward to heading toward his warm blankets with Ron snoring softly in the bed beside him, but in a melancholy sort of way. Rather reluctantly, Harry snuffed the candles and pulled his cloak tight around him, throwing one last, disappointed glance at the empty room before setting out for the main part of the Castle.  
  
There, still some ways from Gryffindor tower, he heard the echo of footsteps down the empty hall and urgent whispers which grew steadily louder and more distinct. Harry quickly stowed himself in the open doorway of an empty classroom and waited.  
  
"The situation is becoming increasingly dangerous, Headmaster."  
  
"Severus, can this not wait until we have reached my office?"  
  
"No, Albus, I don't think it can!"  
  
Professors Dumbledore and Snape strode suddenly into view from around a corner.  
  
"Let us at least not do this in the middle of the hallway," the Headmaster suggested, gesturing at the doorway from which Harry was watching them.

Harry almost panicked, as he suspected his cloak wasn't as effective with Dumbledore as it was with most others. He backed quickly into the shadows and stooped behind a desk just as the two professors entered, closing the door behind them.

Harry was trapped.  
  
"There was a meeting tonight, a very urgent one, but where and for what purpose I cannot be sure, though I can certainly guess."

Snape seemed agitated, running his fingers through his long, greasy hair. He paced in long, stiff strides as he spoke.

Dumbledore stood calmly watching him, and when he spoke, it was with his characteristic patience. "Do they suspect you?"  
  
"No, they trust me, of that much I am sure. But my proximity to the girl compromises the amount of information to which I am privy, despite my assurances that the serum she takes limits her psychic abilities."  
  
"We cannot remove her from Potions, Severus. It is, after all, core curriculum. "  
  
"I am well aware of that. I was merely explaining my impotence. Albus, I don't know the particulars, but I do know the Dark Lord-"  
  
"Do not refer to him as that in my presence, Severus. I consider him no lord," Dumbledore interjected.  
  
" _Voldemort_ , then," Snape replied impatiently. "What I'm trying to tell you is he is intent--very intent--on laying hands on the girl. And what's more, he wants her to come willingly. That's why he's had Malfoy throw his son at her, which appears to be working surprisingly well."  
  
Malfoy? Comprehension dawned, and Harry barely caught the gasp in his throat.

_They're talking about Saryn._

So, that's what Snape had handed her that day after Potions class, a serum to limit psychic abilities Harry didn't realize she possessed. He hadn't thought it polite to ask about it, and then they were getting on so well, he had completely forgotten about the incident. Why on earth hadn't she confided this in him before? He put this revelation to the back of his mind and began listening intently to the rest of the Professors' conversation.  
  
"But if that isn't enough, I have no doubt he will resort to more drastic measures," Snape continued, coming to a halt and looking the Headmaster in the eye for emphasis. "Albus, he claims he wants what is rightfully his," he practically whispered, as if the danger of the situation forbade raised voices, "and before she can, as he puts it, be further corrupted by our futile notions of goodness." The Potions master sneered and brought his fingers to his temples as though the situation were causing the most horrendous stress headache.

Dumbledore's gaze rested on the stone floor while he listened and sorted his thoughts.

"Do you think, perhaps, we should tell the girl?" Snape ventured now, "About her parents?"

Dumbledore shook his head, but not in negation. "Personally, I would have done so the day she was placed in my care. It is at her mother's behest that I have refrained. And I intend to respect that wish so long as it is safe to do so, however unwise."  
  
"Does she have so little faith in the girl?" The tone of Snape's voice made it sound as though he didn't possess much himself, yet, oddly, wished it weren't so.  
  
"It is not a matter of faith, Severus, but innocence. Because of her heritage, Saryn stands to have a life filled with hardships. Her mother would merely like her to have the opportunity to be young, and to enjoy her youth; and with that, at least, I agree."  
  
Snape nodded, but continued to argue. "We may have little choice in the matter. _About_ the serum the girl takes... We may have take her off it eventually. Soon, even. Prolonged use will permanently damage her powers, slowly deteriorating them until they disappear completely. And her psychic ability is not the only thing it limits; it lessens all her abilities."

Dumbledore seemed to be considering the implications of this, but Snape helped him along by voicing them.  
  
"Albus, you've seen the kind of power she possesses even on the potion. If she had any inkling of her true potential... Worse, if the Dar--er--Voldemort knew, can you _imagine_ the damage she could do in his hands? Willing or no? I wouldn't put it past him to chain the girl down and pour Veritaserum down her throat, despite his relationship to her."  
  
_Relationship?_

_Voldemort?_

_To Saryn?_  ?  
  
"She'd be an instant oracle, his own private magic mirror. Albus, we would be able to hide _nothing_ from him!"

Snape really appeared to be at his wit's end.  
  
"I must think on this. Despite all good intentions, a new course must be taken. I will write her mother tonight asking her opinion."  
  
"She should have told the girl herself to begin with."  
  
"Perhaps, Severus. Though you work with children, you have none of your own. I suspect it isn't as simple as we might imagine to crush the dreams of one so precious to us. Regardless, her mother must be consulted. Learn what you can and keep me informed. And do try to get some rest, Severus, there are classes this morning, after all. This has all taken more of a toll on you than I fear is healthy."  
  
Snape nodded, and Dumbledore opened the door, allowing him to pass before disappearing after and gently pulling the door to behind him.  
  
Harry sat on the floor in mild shock.

Saryn was psychic.

Saryn is connected in some way to Voldemort.

Saryn's mother is alive and communicating with Professor Dumbledore.

But how much of this did she know, and how much was she withholding from Harry? Her psychic powers, of course. But Voldemort or her mother? How could one be mistaken about losing one's mother?

Harry felt it was too late to work through it all, though he was certain he would get little sleep. He'd have to talk to Saryn. Immediately. Unfortunately, immediately was probably not until after Potions the day after next, assuming she was a no-show tomorrow night as well.

Confident the coast was clear, Harry slipped from the room and headed for Gryffindor, though his step was considerably less eager than before.


	6. Chapter 6

_~_   
_Things are getting desperate_   
_When all the boys can't be men_   
_Everybody knows_   
_I'm her friend_   
_Everybody knows_   
_I'm her man_   
_~_

  
  
The next day Draco was surprised when Saryn didn't request a thing from him. He had actually had to offer aloud to take her bag. She didn't seem timid, just not demanding, and if that wasn't enough, she couldn't keep her hands off him. While before, she had frowned on any public displays, now when no one was looking, or perhaps without caring if anyone saw or not, she constantly fondled Draco's small, taught ass as though she had discovered he had one for the very first time the previous night and couldn't leave it alone. Not that Draco really minded it. Nor did he mind being yanked into empty hallways or abandoned classrooms, or even just in the shadows behind the greenhouse for short but lusty snogging sessions, even though it made them late for charms.  
  
That day he opted that they grab their lunch and picnic on the grounds by the Quidditch field (behind the equipment shed of course) and she readily agreed. But despite a glorious meal with plenty of kissing and petting for dessert, the inevitable did happen. Though they didn't have class with Gryffindor until the following day in Potions, they met Potter in the hallway when they were heading towards the common room after an intentionally very late super. What he was doing so close to the dungeons, Draco could only suspect. The Gryffindor met his eyes with open hostility for only a moment, during which Draco made a point of putting his arm around Saryn's shoulder and pulling her close to kiss her on the cheek. As Draco had feared she would, she stiffened; though she didn't pull away. When Potter broke eye contact with Draco, he looked immediately and rather urgently at Saryn, trying to convey without words something Draco didn't think Saryn comprehended any better than he did. But it was she, and not Draco, who had quickened pace, and his fears were assuaged when she dragged him directly to her room for a repeat of the previous night.  
  
After, sitting on the floor, spent and naked from the waist down, with Saryn still resting her smiling head on his bare thigh, Draco's impatience (and perhaps a bit of foolish self-confidence) got the better of him.  
  
"Saryn, dear. I wondered if you might do something for me."  
  
"What?" she asked with amused incredulity. "You couldn't possibly want another. You've come twice already."  
  
"A little later, Slytherkins. Actually, I was wondering if you'd give me an early Christmas present. See, I've asked Father if it would be alright if you spent the holidays with us, as I told him you've recently lost your parents, and a family setting might be good for you. He happened to think it was glorious idea. Of course, when we get there, maybe we can do away with this bobble," he reached down and fingered the serpent necklace, more as an excuse to come in contact with her bare breast than anything, "and find you something more deserving of your beauty," he said, punctuating the comment with a quick wink.  
  
" _Bobble?_ " she said, taking it in hand. "This is probably worth more than our old house in the States and everything in it. Daddy was a mechanic, you know. A bad one." She paused for a long moment in serious thought. "I'm not completely alone, y'know. I do have my aunt. I didn't really get a chance to know her that well before coming here, though I think we were becoming quite fond of each other."  
  
"She'll be your aunt for the rest of your life. Aren't you growing fond of me, as well? Let me have this one little thing. I promise to make it worthwhile," he said, running his fingers through her silky waves.  
  
"I'll think about it, Draco," she replied uneasily.  
  
Disappointed, but not completely rejected, Draco decided not to push his luck and said no more.  
  
Since the picnicking schedule was a bit exhausting, and he couldn't keep her from the Great Hall forever, the next morning they breakfasted as usual; and as she was equally as affectionate as before, even in plain view of Potter. Still, Draco caught her gaze drift several times towards enemy territory. With her hand firmly pressed against Draco's cock beneath the table she would lock eyes on Potter.

'Oh, well,' he thought, 'It appears I've won in the end. What could it really hurt? Let her keep her little crush, so long as she keeps up the thing she's doing to my crotch right now, what does it matter?'

Fairly confident that he wasn't going to lose her to the Boy-Who-Lived again, at least not any time soon, judging by the eagerness with which she presently fondled him, Draco allowed their glances. He even cast a few himself. Being thoroughly satisfied (and not only in sense of the situation), he didn't glare at Potter in loathing. Instead, Draco allowed himself to study the other boy, to see him through Saryn's eyes.  
  
It wasn't as though her preoccupation with Potter was completely ludicrous, even though he wasn't as rich and handsome as Draco was. In fact, Draco had often wondered why Harry never had a girlfriend. He was far from unattractive, even Draco could appreciate that. Harry possessed a boyish charm which was perfectly complemented by his unkempt black hair and impossibly dorky glasses. Actually, all of Harry's features--his glasses, his quick good-natured smile, his ungainly gait--were awkward to such an extreme that when put together, they achieved a kind of inexplicable grace, like a puppy so funny looking it is adorable.

Not that he was _all_ gawkiness. Harry had a handsome face and stunning green eyes. And was maturing well, Draco had to admit. All those strenuous Quidditch practices _certainly_ weren't damaging his physique. He made Draco think of some unlikely romantic hero in all those silly love stories girls seemed to fancy so much. Which was what confused Draco about girls in general. Because, were they interested in Harry? Ironically, no...they were attracted to boys like Draco, conceited and condescending and manipulative. (These were all traits Draco guiltlessly conceded possession of.)

Still, Draco had thought his fame, at least, would have been enough to launch Harry into the most eligible bachelor category, with girls desperate to console the poor, unfortunate, tragically misunderstood star. Whatever the reason, the boy-next-door dreamboat that _was_ Harry Potter remained unattached...until Saryn. And now that was deprived him, as well. At least in every practical sense.

 _Oh, poor boy_ , Draco thought with a mocking pout of his lip.

And so, while Draco could understand Saryn's attraction to Harry, he still had no idea what to do about it. Though at the moment, it didn't concern him much at all.  
  
He couldn't let it concern him, really. Because in a few hours time was Potions class, and if Draco had let himself be concerned, he would go mad during it.  
  
Thankfully these thoughts were interrupted by the mail. Owls of every shape and size came swooping in, as they did every morning around this time. Draco usually didn't pay much attention, but he was grateful for the distraction now. He watch them fill the Hall, a blur of feathers and raining parcels, when he caught sight of a very familiar eagle owl. His stomach turned. With an air of great importance, it lit directly in front of Draco, breast thrust forward at proud attention. Draco practically took its claw off when he snatched the letter from it, and it hooted at him in a very unpleasant manner before abruptly lifting into the air.  
  
The letter was, of course, from Draco's father.  
  
"Excuse me, Slytherkins," he said, already rising from the table, "I won't be a moment."

Saryn looked at him strangely but nodded and, without explaining further, Draco slipped from the Great Hall. He didn't want to risk her seeing what the letter said, as it would most likely destroy everything he'd been working toward. Once safely out of view, he tore it open and read, though the parchment trembled in his shaking hand.  
  
_Draco, there has been no word from you in some time. I certainly hope, for your sake, you have not failed me. Why, pray tell, have you not given the girl the necklace I sent? Damn the ceremony and see that she is wearing it by tonight. If I do not receive an owl from you before this day is through, telling me of your smashing success, you will be getting more than a letter with my next communication. I hope you understand me._  
  
And he did. Draco scolded himself for not sending word the night before, but he had hoped to have a definite answer from Saryn about the holidays before writing his father. Draco wondered why it was so important that Saryn should wear the necklace. It made Draco feel uneasy, though he wasn't sure why. It didn't really matter. She was wearing the necklace now, and Draco needn't worry about it further. He would at least be assuring his father of that, if not the holiday plans, immediately after breakfast. He shuddered to think what his father had in mind to send him if he didn't.  


* * *

  
  
Harry hadn't gotten a wink of sleep for almost two days. He was exhausted and largely unresponsive the next morning, but it didn't seem to matter, because Ron and Hermione were at it again. Harry had noticed the two were arguing more than usual lately, but he had been so wrapped up with Saryn, he hadn't paid all that much attention until now. This morning, they seemed particularly vicious, though Harry hadn't taken note of exactly what was the matter. It didn't take much these days.  
  
Harry was too preoccupied to care at the moment. He had to find a way to talk to Saryn. He had lingered by the dungeons all evening the night before, only to find Draco connected to her at the hip when they appeared, so Harry walked forward to meet them, hoping Saryn could see in his expression how anxious he was to talk to her. It obviously hadn't worked, at least not as he had planned. He had thought of sending her an owl, but then she was always with Draco, and he would no doubt be very interested in who was writing her, since the owl her aunt used was very distinctive and Harry would never find another like it.

Speaking of owls, the mail began to arrive while Harry was brainstorming. He sighed and looked over at the Slytherin table, trying to resign himself to the fact that he would have to wait until Potions before he had a chance to speak to Saryn. And even then, he had no idea how he would get round Ron and Hermione.  
  
That's when a miracle happened. Draco got a letter. Not that that was miraculous in itself, really. It was only that he seemed very keen on leaving the Hall to read it. Harry hastily ripped some parchment from the scroll in his bag and scrawled a note to Saryn.  
  
_Must talk to you IMMEDIATELY. Find a way to get away from Draco and meet me behind the greenhouses after class._  
  
Harry glanced over at Ron and Hermione. They were bickering furiously and didn't appear to notice he was even there.  
  
Harry performed a banishing charm and the note went sailing across the aisle and under the Slytherin table directly into Saryn's lap. She jumped and looked down at it and then to Harry. Rather reluctantly, with one eye on the door, she opened and read it. Sheepishly, she nodded to Harry, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe now he wouldn't be too preoccupied to pay attention to Professor Sprout's lecture.

That is, if he didn't fall asleep in the flutterby bushes during.


	7. Chapter 7

_~_  
_Talula, Talula, you don't want to lose her_  
_She must be worth losing if it is worth something_  
_~_

"Saryn!" Harry sighed in happy relief, finding her behind the greenhouse after herbology.  
  
"Not here. Follow me," she insisted, dragging him after her as she slipped round the greenhouse and into the Castle, checking every corner like a trained spy. He followed her up two flights of stairs. She was headed for a bathroom. A very familiar bathroom.

"In here."   
  
"Saryn...I don't really like that place," Harry tried to argue.  
  
"No one uses it for some reason. Come on, we won't be disturbed."  
  
Harry, of course, knew this. He'd spent many an hour here his second year, watching Hermione brew that horrible potion. Reluctantly, he followed, eyeing the sinks with great dislike.  
  
"I know it's a girl's bathroom, Harry, but you don't have to be that freaked out," Saryn remarked, watching him shrink toward the far wall.  
  
"It's not that. I've just been here before. There's a passage here that really only I can open, leading to a place I'd like to forget. It's a long story," he explained.

She looked at him thoughtfully but didn't press. Harry forced himself to come to terms with their hideout and returned his thoughts to the matter at hand.  
  
"Saryn, I've been wanting to talk to you for ages-"  
  
"I know," she cut in, her voice riddled with guilt. She rushed to him and took his hands in hers. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. I'm just confused. I know how it looks, and I'm not sure how I feel about Draco. But I think he found us out somehow. And with you being a Gryffindor and me a Slytherin...but I didn't mean to hurt you, I just-"  
  
"No," Harry managed to break in. He'd rather not think about where she'd been the past couple of days, "That's not it."

She quieted and looked at him inquiringly.  
  
"Saryn, I've found something out," he began. "I overheard some things, and I think you're in danger. You need to stay away from Malfoy."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why?"  
  
For all the thought about wanting to talk to her, Harry had given very little to what he would say. Obviously Dumbledore had his reasons for withholding all that information from Saryn, and Harry didn't want to undermine the Headmaster. Neither did he want to compromise Snape's position with the Death Eaters. As much as he disliked the man, he didn't want him _killed_ , after all. Still, Harry felt Saryn should know at least some of it.  
  
"Firstly, I know you're psychic," he confessed.  
  
"How did you-"  
  
"Just trust me and listen. That serum Snape gives you, it's deteriorating your powers. It may destroy them. He isn't meaning for that to happen, it just is."

Saryn took a moment to consider this. Then she nodded that she understood, and Harry went on.  
  
"Second, you need to stay away from Malfoy. He's closely connected to some bad people--or his father is--and they are interested in you. I think it's because of your powers."

This, she didn't seem to comprehend.  
  
"Surely you know how Slytherins are preoccupied with Dark Magic and lots of other evil things," Harry went on, trying to explain without saying too much. "They are ruthless and don't mind using people for their own ends, at whatever cost. I have no clue how you ended up there."

At this she turned away from him so he couldn't see her face, but she cocked her head slightly to let him know she was listening. Harry hadn't meant to offend her. He had always assumed she disliked her house. He had to continue without a discussion on it, though. They didn't have much time.

"Saryn, Malfoy's been lying to you. His father is the one who told him to seduce you so they could get to you."

Saryn gasped and grabbed at the necklace under her sweater. "What? Are you sure?"  
  
" _Positive_."  
  
She was obviously upset, and Harry moved towards her to comfort her. "They think they can get you to participate willingly in their schemes. Though I'm not sure why they think you're the kind of person to get wrapped up in all of that."

She didn't respond. Harry couldn't afford to let her process it all, though.   
  
"There's more."  
  
She turned to him now, looking as though she couldn't believe there could possibly be more.  
  
"It's your parents, Saryn. I think they're alive."

Saryn pulled from his grasp and stalked away from Harry, putting her hands on a sink as though she would be sick.  
  
"I knew you must be mistaken. Apparently, I was right. Whoever told you these things lied," she said in an uncharacteristically mean way.  
  
Harry couldn't understand why she was behaving this way. He'd have cried for joy if someone had told him his parents might still be living. "What are you talking about? Why is that such an impossibility? You told me yourself you never saw them, were too upset to go to the funeral. I know it's a little far fetched, but you don't understand these people. You'd be surprised what they can do. Your mother, at least, I know is alive. Though for some reason she doesn't want you to know."  
  
"Harry, you're full of shit. My parents are dead!"  
  
"Yes, but Saryn, how do you _know_."  
  
" _Because I killed them!"_   she cried, rounding on him.  
  
Harry was taken aback, both by the declaration and by the expression on Saryn's face. "You...you what?" he asked helplessly, his heart thumping in his chest.

The confession seemed to have taken quite a bit out of her, and she slumped back against the sink behind her. "I killed my parents, Harry. They're dead. I _know_ they are."  
  
"B-but why? How?" Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it, refused to believe her capable of it. She'd always been so warm and sweet with him.   
  
Saryn sighed. She seemed tired but not particularly ashamed. "It wasn't premeditated or anything. I'd just had enough," she looked up and held his eye, and it made Harry shiver. "There are worse things than being orphaned, Harry. There's having parents who hate you, people you don't belong with and can't get away from. I know you understand that. You've told me about the Dursley's."  
  
"Yes, but they aren't my mother and father," Harry said in horror. "And I'd never _seriously_ wish them dead!"  
  
"What difference does it make if they are your real parents or not?"  
  
"What happened?" he asked, dreading her answer, but he needed to know. "What did they do?"

Saryn sank to her knees, wrapping her arms around them. It obviously wasn't easy for her to recall these things. When she began to speak, she spoke rapidly, as though a dam had burst and she couldn't control the flow of her words. "It wasn't Mother so much," she told Harry, her voice small for all its quickness. "But Daddy, he hated me. He had always hated me." 

Her voice was colorless. Harry couldn't tell if she was just numb to it all or if she was trying to separate herself from her emotions out of self-preservation. Or if maybe she wasn't capable of feeling. How could she and still be able to do what she'd done?

"He hated who I was, _what_ I was. Mother was afraid of him. She never stood up for me. Daddy drank, and he always said I was the reason why. He told me all the time that I was the spawn of the Devil himself and I could never be saved. We lived in Kansas. Baptist country. And he was 'religious'." She said this with a sneer in her voice. "But he wouldn't even take me to church. He said it was a sin to bring a demon into the Lord's house."

Though her voice was still flat, it trembled, and Saryn was crying now. Big, silent drops rolled down her flawless white cheeks.

"I would hear them arguing about me at night when they thought I was asleep. He used to tell Mother, 'I moved from there to get away from that evil. I turned my back on that world and that life.' I knew he meant England. He and Mother had the accent, but they wouldn't speak of it to me. 'I moved to be free of it, and it's followed me here. She should have been killed at birth. I'm almost surprised she didn't come out with that mark on her arm. If she had, I'd have done it myself.' He said that a lot. But I never knew what he meant when he said 'that mark'. I didn't understand any of the rest of it, either, really. I didn't understand why he hated me. I mean, I'd never _done_ anything to him. Not intentionally anyway. Honestly, Harry, I _tried_. I never misbehaved. _Never_."

This comment was broken by sobs, and Harry felt his heart breaking for her despite her murderous admission. Before he could move to comfort her, she regained her composure and continued.

"Only, occasionally, I'd make things happen. Not on purpose. When he'd yell at me, I'd get so upset, and then the shelves would turn over. Or my mother's owl collection...my mother, she loved owls," she digressed. Saryn smiled at the recollection despite her streaming tears. "She had all these little statues and figurines. Well, I'd make them shatter sometimes, and I hated that because they were so pretty, and I knew she liked them so much." 

There was more guilt in her voice for ceramic owls than there had been for her parents, but Harry decided to listen with an open mind until she was finished.

"Once I made the ceiling fan fall," she told him. "Just so many things like that. All my life. And it always made things worse. I knew I could do more terrible things, though. I knew in my heart I could do more than smash trinkets with my mind. And it took all my willpower _not_ to do those things, especially when he really got going at me. I couldn't even stand up for myself for having to concentrate on not making the windows explode or the television fly at him."

Harry's magical hiccups had never been so destructive. He hadn't even realized that they had originated with him at the time. They were just unexplained occurrences. Of course, the Dursley's knew. And like Saryn's parents, they had punished him for them, all the while knowing he hadn't known what he was doing, hadn't known what he was. Saryn, it seemed, hadn't known, either; but she intuited far more than Harry had.

She hesitated. Her confession was taking a toll, but once begun, it seemed to demand to be finished.  

"When he was really drunk he'd hit me," she told Harry quietly. "And then he started doing it sober," she went on, quieter still. "And one day, they were going out. To a Revival, ironically, out of town. And he'd said something offhanded and nasty like, 'I'd pray for you if I thought it'd do you any good. Don't go channeling your father, the Devil, while we're out.' I got _so_ angry. I told him I hated him, and it was him who was the Devil, and that I hoped he prayed really hard at that Revival because he was headed straight to Hell for treating Mother and me the way he did. Of course, he hit me. He hit me and just turned around and left. And Mother only looked at me, all sympathetic. But she followed him out. She chose him, like she always did."

Saryn's tears stopped falling, and her expression grew hard.

"I promised myself that was the last time. I wished him dead, Harry. I wished them both dead, Mother too, for never helping me. I wished them dead, and I projected that wish with all my power. Then I saw them. In my mind, I saw them pulling onto the highway. And just when I thought I'd die if I hated them anymore, it happened. Daddy just suddenly slumped over the wheel. They were hit by a truck. At least they died quickly. But you know what the horrible thing is?" she asked, looking up at him. "Even if I could, I'm not sure I'd take it back."

She sighed, exhausted by her tale, and looked up at Harry with a quirky smile. "So now you know why I'm in Slytherin. I'm as evil as any of them."

Harry blinked. "What? They died in a crash? But Saryn, that doesn't mean _you_ killed them! It might have been a heart attack or something. Accidents happen-"  
  
"No, I know it was me," she insisted in a tone so certain that it shook Harry a bit and made him at least concede the possibility. "Regardless," she continued more softly, "they are dead."  
  
Harry shuffled over and sat down beside her. He wrapped his arms around her, and Saryn allowed it. They were terribly late for Potions. Harry could only imagine the row that would cause between them and about half a dozen other people for various reasons. But it couldn't be helped. This was not a situation you just walked out of because you had class to attend.  
  
"After dark, okay? The usual place? We can talk more then," he whispered, hugging her more tightly.

She hugged him back and nodded.

* * *

  
  
Draco was not happy. Saryn had disappeared after class saying she needed to attend to 'feminine needs'. And while this gave Draco an opportunity to owl his father, assuring him that the necklace was, at that moment, hanging from Saryn's neck, she hadn't reappeared for Potions.

More disturbingly, neither had Harry Potter.

Snape had been in a veritable rage over it. The man hadn't appeared to be feeling well to begin with, and after their absence on top of that, the professor had decided to subject the class to one of his famous pop quizzes, one which plainly was not meant to be passed.  
  
At lunch Draco, fuming, headed to Slytherin instead of the Great Hall and had found Saryn in her room, as he had hoped he would.

"One of the Gryffindor tables was curious empty during Potions today," he said coldly in greeting.  
  
"It's complicated, Draco," she replied shortly. Draco could tell she'd been crying.

 _She must have been breaking it off with Potter,_ he thought. _Well, that can be excused, then_.

"Snape may not be as gracious, he said he'd like to speak with you as soon as possible. I, on the other hand, might be willing to forgive you. Just tell me you're spending Christmas at Malfoy Manor with me, and all is forgotten, my little Slytherkins. Easy as that," Draco said with a lazy snap of his fingers.  
  
"You know, Draco," Saryn began with a seductive smile; that wiley, playful tone Draco loved so much showing up in her voice, "I've been thinking about that..."  
  
" _And?_ " he asked with a growing smile.  
  
"And I've decided I'd rather not," she said flatly, all seduction gone. "Now, if you will excuse me." She took him by the arm to help him find his way out.  
  
"Wait a minute," Draco spluttered, becoming angry. "We aren't going back to this again, are we?"  
  
"Goodbye, Draco," she said, slamming the door in his face and locking it. Draco just stared at it, dumbfounded.

What was going on?  
  
Shaking from head to toe, Draco retreated to his room to lick his wounds. How on _earth_ was he ever going to explain this to his father?  
  
Saryn was absent for the rest of the day's classes, and after supper, Draco again tried to talk to her, but there was no answer to his knock. In the end, he had written his father the perfunctory letter and sent it off just before crawling into bed, dreading the next day and what it might bring.


	8. Chapter 8

  
_~_  
Put on your make-up, boy  
You're your favourite stranger  
And we all like to watch  
~

 

  
For the third night in a row, Harry was getting no sleep. But that was alright, as there were no classes the next day... _and_ he was spending the evening with Saryn. Though it had only been a few days since this last occurred, it felt to Harry like years, and when he took her in his arms there under their familiar ceiling of stars, he felt an incredible sense of relief. All the anxiety of the past days melted in the warmth of her presence.  
  
For a very long while, they didn't speak at all. But as the minutes slowly expired, and Harry knew the hour of their parting ticked steadily closer, he decided it was time to break the comforting stillness. There were things of great import to be discussed. He unwound himself from her and spoke.  
  
"Saryn." His voice sounded strange to him, echoing off the circular stone walls after the silence. It was foreign and tinny. "Have you thought about what I told you?"

Reluctantly she straightened. "A little," she said. "If the serum is deteriorating my powers like you say it is-"  
  
"It is," he assured her.  
  
She looked at him as though she didn't have much confidence in him but wouldn't argue. "Then I think I should stop taking it. But Harry, in a very real way, I need it. It's disconcerting, all the thoughts that seep in that I can't ignore. Or causing things to move on accident. I mean, who told you all those things anyway? And how can you be so sure they were right? They were wrong about my parents."  
  
"I wasn't told. I overheard. And I only guessed about your parents," he confessed repentantly. "But I'm certain about the serum. And I'm certain about Malfoy," he added firmly.

Saryn clucked her tongue and turned away from him.  
  
"Saryn, I'm serious. I've had run-ins with these people before. It is a very dangerous order. And Malfoy is the son of a very important member of it."  
  
"He has a first name you know," she snapped. Harry was taken aback. "A very nice name, I think. You might try using it. It's much more pleasant than Malfoy."  
  
"Why are you so upset about this?"  
  
"Because I don't understand why you hate each other so much."  
  
_Why do I hate Malfoy? Let's see...because he loves to see me suffer, because he would betray me to Voldemort in a heartbeat, because he insults my friends and tries to get us all in trouble every chance he gets. Oh, and let's not forget he's a slimy, spineless git._  
  
"Saryn, this thing between me and Malfoy goes back a long way."  
  
"But he's harmless," she sighed.  
  
"I'm not so sure about that," Harry argued.  
  
"Okay, granted," she huffed, "he's spoiled and stubborn and proud and extremely petty at times." Harry nodded his agreement to all of these things. "But don't you see he was raised to be like that?" said Saryn. "I gleaned a lot from him before I started taking the serum, Harry, and he's not all that bad. He's just never taken the time to decide what _he_ really thinks. He's been taught to repeat his father, to mimic him in every way. The Draco you see is not the real Draco. He does the things he does because, I suspect, he's genuinely a sensitive person trying desperately to appear to his father, and to the rest of the world, that he is otherwise...because it's _expected_ of him."  
  
Harry thought about what she said for a long time. He wondered what _he_ would be like if he had been raised as a Malfoy, with a father like Draco's. Despite himself, Harry felt a twang of sympathy for the prat.  
  
"So you're drawn to his sensitive soul--which he never shows--and that's why you have been standing me up at night? To cultivate it? Lure him out of his shell?"

She threw Harry an acrid look, and her voice was sharp and sudden as a snake bite. "I told you he found out about us."  
  
"So what? If you want to be with me and not him, why do you _care_ if he knows?"  
  
"Why don't you tell _your_ friends about _me?_ "she hissed.

Inwardly Harry conceded his hypocrisy, but was too stubborn and jealous to leave it at that. "How do you know I haven't?" he challenged.  
  
"Please, Harry. I don't need to be psychic to know that. I can tell by the way that Granger girl looks at me. And surely such a good friend as that Weasley wouldn't gawk at his best mate's girl so openly." 

  
" _That Granger? That_ Weasley?" It was the first time Harry had ever been angry with her, and he was fairly angry. "My friends have names too, you know. Just because you're in Slytherin doesn't mean you have to act like those assholes. Or maybe Hermione was right. Maybe you are just a typical Slytherin and I've been too trusting to see it."  
  
"Is that what you think? I may not be like _you_ Harry, but I'm not like them." She shook her head. "I should have known this would be a disappointment."  
  
"What?" Harry asked, growing angrier. " _Us?_ "  
  
"No! Coming here, to Hogwarts." She stood abruptly and walked away from him, though, like escaping an unpleasant smell. "All my life I've been different, and I've been hated for it, and almost hating myself because of it. And I thought that by coming here, I'd finally be able to fit in. But that was a load of crap I force fed myself. Everyone here hates me too, because I'm a Slytherin. And all the Slytherins hate me because I was raised a Muggle. Even the teachers treat me differently!"

Harry was about to respond to this, but she cut him off.  
  
"You want to know why I'm with Draco? Because Draco makes me feel like I belong. Draco accepts me-"  
  
"Oh, and I don't I suppose?"  
  
"Harry, it's different. You're a Gryffindor, and I'm a Slytherin. It's so hard for us to be together. Draco's just always there, he's _accessible_."  
  
Harry was about to shout something back, but he noticed she had tears in her eyes, though she seemed to be trying to hide them, and his anger melted a little. _God, I'm a softy_.

He sighed and rose to go to her. "I understand about being different. Believe me I do."  
  
"Different, maybe. But at least the whole school doesn't _hate_ you," she said, hiccupping a small sob.  
  
"They did once," Harry told her. "My second year here, everyone hated me. They were afraid of me. I think even Ron and Hermione were, too, in a way."

She looked at him, forgetting to hide her tears in her curiosity.  
  
"Y'know that bathroom you took me to, and I said I didn't like it and it was a long story?"

She nodded.

"Well, that's because some bad things happened back then. Students were being attacked, and everyone thought it was me doing it."

Saryn looked appalled. "But why would they think it was you?"  
  
"Because someone wrote messages on the walls saying it was the heir of Slytherin doing those things, and Slytherin was famous for being able to talk to snakes. And...well...I can talk to snakes. But I'm not the heir of Slytherin," he added quickly. "That's an even longer story. But everyone thought that since I could speak Parseltongue that I must be the heir, and they were all afraid of me."

He hated digging this up. She looked up at him in keen curiosity, tears gone, and there was something almost predatory in her eye. It made Harry uncomfortable.

"The point is, I know how you feel. But just give it some time. People will accept you, once they get a chance to know you. You just haven't been here long."

She appeared to be calmed by this and stepped closer to Harry so he could put his arms around her. "But why don't you like that bathroom?" she asked softly after a while.  
  
"Oh," he said, "Well, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is there, and you have to be a Parseltongue like me to open it. A monster used to live down there, and it was what was attacking the students."  
  
"The Chamber of Secrets." she repeated as though filing the words away in her memory. "So, you're afraid of the monster?"  
  
"Er...no. Actually," he hated talking about what others considered his heroics, "I killed it. And it wasn't exactly a happy experience. That bathroom reminds me of it is all."

She didn't ask any more questions which relieved Harry enormously.  
  
"Saryn," he ventured. "You say you're with Draco because he's accessible. Well, what if I was? I mean. I couldn't be nearly as accessible as he is. But what if, say, either of us needed someone to talk to or something. We could have some sort of sign that no one else would notice, and we could meet here right away?"

She considered this for a moment and nodded. "But what kind of sign?"   
  
"I don't know. A double wink or something?"  
  
She grinned wickedly. "Sure. We do that anyway, and it drives Draco mad."  
  
"In that case, maybe it should be a triple wink," he kidded.

She swatted at him playfully. "Stop it. I told you to be nice to Draco, and I'll be nice to Ron and Hermione...and I'll try and make sure Draco is too, how's that?"  
  
"I won't hold my breath about Draco," he said. God that name sounded weird on his tongue. "But otherwise, it's a deal."  
  
Harry slept soundly when he got back to the dorms. Of course, things weren't perfect, but they weren't so dire. Saryn was going to stop taking the serum, and he had warned her about Malfoy...or _Draco_...and that was all he could do.  
  
Surprisingly, Harry woke early, actually refreshed, and so decided to go down to breakfast early before Ron and Hermione were likely to be there. He crept from the common room and headed confidently towards the Great Hall and was practically seated when he noticed Hermione making a b-line for him from the doors. Harry sighed, but then he reasoned he'd been ignoring his friends for a while. No doubt, she'd assail him with worried questions. Harry felt that, this morning, he could handle whatever might come. But then he spied, surprisingly, that Ron was right behind her. This must be important, he thought, for Ron to be up and at it this early.

 _God, please tell me I'm not about to have to settle another argument._  
  
"Morning, Hermione. Ron," he said as cheerfully as he could muster.  
  
"Harry, we need to talk," Hermione said, sitting on one side of him while Ron took the other.

 _Here we go_.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"About the mating habits of flobberworms," Ron said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "What do you _think?_ "  
  
"I've been in the library the last few days," Hermione announced.

 _Big surprise_.

"And I found all sorts of things about Mariyn Sylvany."  
  
"For the love of...Hermione, what is your _deal_ with that Saryn girl?" Harry said, a little more harshly than he had intended.

Hermione gave him a stern look and continued. "Listen to what I found," she insisted. "Mariyn Sylvany was a powerful psychic, and like her card said, she did a lot of good stuff with her power, which supposedly runs in the female line of her family."  
  
"Ok," Harry responded unenthusiastically.  
  
"She had a daughter named Mariyn as well. It's odd, I know, but it's like the girl to inherit the power inherits the name too, some tradition or something."  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
" _Well_ ," Hermione continued, getting all fired up now, "did you know that her daughter was in league with the Death Eaters?"

Harry dropped the sarcasm and was suddenly very interested.

"Apparently she was recruited by her own brother. After a year or so, though, he renounced Voldemort and went into hiding. But Mariyn, _junior_ as it were, stayed behind and was said to be one of the keys to Voldemort's power, using her psychic abilities to help him locate traitors and spy on his enemies."  
  
"You found all this in the _library?_ "  
  
"Hermione can find anything in the library," Ron chimed, smiling goofily at Hermione; and Hermione, unfazed, picked up where she left off.  
  
"Strangely, though, about a year before Voldemort's fall, she disappeared." Hermione finished in half a dramatic whisper.  
  
Harry was uneasy. Things almost made sense, but not quite. After all, her name was Saryn, not Mariyn. And she was Muggleborn. And if he didn't know that Saryn was a gifted psychic, he just might have tried to dismiss it all as coincidence. But he knew it wasn't. Not after what Snape said about her being connected to Voldemort somehow. Harry wondered if he should tell them about what Snape and Dumbledore had said. In fact, he was sure he should. But that would mean admitting he was still seeing Saryn. Or rather, that he had started seeing her in the first place, and he knew they'd be hurt by the secret.

As if she could read his mind, Hermione spoke. "Listen, Harry, we know you've been sneaking off to see Saryn."

Harry was more embarrassed than surprised.

"And that's why we're here. And we aren't mad or anything. Well, we may be upset, but we're willing to forgive you. We're just worried about you, is all."  
  
Ron nodded his agreement, but Harry didn't quite know how to respond.  
  
"Ok," he said finally. "Since the cat is out of the bag, I have some things to say. One, thank you. I know you guys care about me, and I care about you, and I'm sorry I've been hiding things from you. You're great friends. But...Two, I'm not going to stop seeing Saryn. I care about her, and she's lonely and confused by a lot of things. Which brings me to number three." He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the shocked look on Hermione's face. "I overheard Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore talking about her, and I think she's in danger. Not me for a change, her. And I'm glad you guys know about us now, because I need your understanding, because I have to be there for her when she needs me."  
  
Hermione didn't speak for a long moment, and then she practically burst at him. "So you're going to continue to ignore us? Your _great_ friends? And just go galloping into danger because of a girl you've just met? Her family's connected to the Death Eaters, Harry. To _Voldemort_ , the man who killed your parents!"  
  
"I _know_ who killed my parents," Harry hissed.  
  
Hermione appeared a little apologetic, but she didn't let up. "She could be working with them to get to you, Harry. Did that never occur to you?"  
  
"She's not working with anyone. She didn't even know our world existed until about six months ago-"  
  
"Well she sure caught on quickly," Hermione interjected, remembering the episode in Potions bitterly.  
  
Harry scowled at her and went on, "Listen, she grew up in the States. Coming to England would be change enough, but she's at an English boarding school for  _witchcraft_ , for God's sake, and she feels out of place enough without you trying to make her out to be an assassin or an evil spy."  
  
"I just don't _trust_ her, Harry. And I don't think you should, either. You've been betrayed before by people you thought you could trust. I just don't want to see it happen again. She's all friendly with Malfoy, and she's probably not any better than he is."  
  
"And just how do you know Draco's all that bad? Do you even really know him?" Harry said, surprising himself. There was more conviction in his voice than he thought possible when talking about Malfoy, at least in a sympathetic manner, and he wasn't sure if it was because he believed what he was saying or if he was just angry at Hermione.

Her mouth flew open, and Harry was vaguely surprised her eyes didn't just fall out of her head they were opened so widely. "Harry," she said in an amazingly calm voice, her expression unchanged. "Has she put some kind of spell on you? Has she been brainwashing you?" Hermione asked sincerely.  
  
Harry just shook his head at her. He realized Ron hadn't said a word for a very long time and turned to him. "So what do you think, Ron? Do you think I've been brainwashed? Do you think I'm crazy?"  
  
But Ron didn't answer. His eyes were narrowed and glued to the door. Harry turned and saw Draco Malfoy there, out of breath and looking less than his collected, polished self. Harry was going to remark on it to Hermione, but he noticed she was staring intently at something as well. At the opposite end of the Hall, Professor Snape had emerged from a door behind the staff table. Harry looked from Draco to Snape, and he realized they were both headed straight, and very quickly, for Saryn at the Slytherin table, whom Harry had not even noticed was there until that moment.

God, he hoped she hadn't overheard them arguing.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all turned and watched as Snape and Draco convened at Saryn's side. Harry wondered what could possibly be going on and hoped Saryn would look up and notice him. Snape said something to the two Slytherins, and then Saryn did notice Harry. She gave him a perplexed, uneasy look, subtly winking twice.

Their signal.

Harry nodded. Then his attention was drawn to Draco. He looked paler than usual and disoriented. When he saw Harry staring at him, Harry didn't look away. Draco glared viciously at Harry for an moment, but then he composed himself so he might put on his usual show, sneering at Harry while he put an arm around Saryn's waist and followed Snape from the Great Hall.  
  
"What was that all about?" Hermione wondered aloud after they disappeared, her anger obviously forgotten in light of this new mystery. Ron only furrowed his brow and shook his head.  
  
"I don't know," Harry said, "but I'm sure I can find out." He got up from the table and looked down at his friends. Now that his anger had subsided, he felt a little guilty for having been so cross. They were, after all, just looking out for him. "Listen guys, I'm sorry. We'll talk about this later, I promise. But I need to go see what's wrong, alright?"

Reluctantly, they both nodded, and Harry headed straight for the observatory.

* * *

 

Draco didn't have to wait long for his father's reply. Some time right after dawn, he was woken by fervent tapping on his dormitory door. Half asleep, he shuffled to it, in a very foul mood for being awakened so early. Saryn wasn't the only one who valued her beauty sleep.

Draco yanked the door open, but before an insult could pass his lips, a large eagle owl flapped past him, almost knocking Draco over in surprise and disorientation as its massive wings fluttered round his face. How it managed to get into the dungeons, Draco had no idea. It finally stopped circling the ceiling and landed on Draco's bed, practically shaking its letter at him in impatience. Draco approached it warily and, with trembling fingers removed its burden, after which it took off without so much as a hoot.

Draco turned the scroll round and round in his hand. There was no writing on the outside. It was no more than a note. His father had not even bothered to place it in an envelope. Draco knew the contents could not be good, at least not for Draco. Knowing it must be quite urgent to have been delivered to the dorm so soon before the normal mail, Draco opened it finally and read  
  
_Your failure is of little concern now. The situation is well in hand. I shall be arriving at Hogwarts within the hour and shall speak to you then._  
  
"He's coming here?!" Draco said aloud to the parchment, causing Crabbe to groan a barely audible, 'What's coming?' from his pillow.

Draco ignored him and moved to dress, quickly but with extra attention. It wouldn't do for his father to think he had failed due to slovenly appearance. Buttons in place, hair slicked and cloak clasped, Draco immediately left the common room. He needed some air. He need to think.  
  
"Why would he be coming _here?_ " he asked himself in a whisper as he paced aimlessly through the lesser used corridors of the dungeons. "Surely he doesn't mean merely to chastise me in person." Though that was by no means unthinkable.

On Draco paced, trying not to imagine his imminent doom.  
  
"Perhaps...Perhaps I can still persuade her." Draco was rambling to himself now like a madman. "Yes. Before he arrives, maybe I can convince her to change her mind. Or at least fake it until I think of something. I could go talk to her before he gets here!"

It couldn't hurt to try, and it being his only viable option, it seemed a glorious idea.  
  
He rushed back to Slytherin only to find Saryn had already left for breakfast, as had most of the rest of the House. He must have been out far longer than he had thought.

_Drat!_

Draco actually sprinted to the Great Hall. Panting at its threshold, he searched for Saryn and found her, noting acridly that she was throwing wistful glances at the Gryffindor table. Draco's lip twitched into a smirk as he wondered if he had ever hated Harry Potter more than he did at that moment. He smoothed his robes and slowed his breathing. He was so intent on making his way to Saryn's side that he failed to notice Professor Snape striding towards her with equal speed from the opposite end of the Hall.  
  
"Saryn, I need to speak to you _now,_ " he managed to whisper before Snape came to a halt not a foot from them. Saryn looked questioningly from one to the other of them.  
  
"There you are, Mister Malfoy." Snape's expression was grim indeed. "Miss Sylvany," he said in an unusually subdued tone, "would you be so kind as to accompany me to the Headmaster's office? Professor Dumbledore prays an audience with you. Mister Malfoy, your presence has been requested as well."  
  
Draco's? If Saryn was to be reprimanded for her absences yesterday, why was he expected to go? He had nothing to do with it. Go nab Potter, it was _his_ fault.

But Draco didn't dare question Snape. He felt desperate and restless as a caged animal. He needed to talk to the girl! He didn't have time for this. His father might already have arrived.

Draco took a quick moment to compose himself, laying his hand on the table to steady him. And as he turned to do so, he caught sight of Potter. Actually, the whole Holy Trinity was displaying great interest in the proceedings.

_This is all your fault you scar-headed freak. If, as I've always suspected, you exist for the soul purpose of making my life Hell, congratulations. You're succeeding beautifully._

Despite his trepidation about the his present circumstance, his loathing for the boy was not dulled, and while Draco was certain he was still being watched by the other boy, he offered Saryn a hand to help her to her feet. As they followed Snape from the Great Hall, Draco made a point of resting his hand possessively on the small of Saryn's back. She shot him a look but did not brush him away.  
  
When they reached the top of the rotating staircase, Snape opened the door to Dumbledore's office without announcement and held it for Saryn to enter first. Draco was about to follow when he spied his father standing in front of Dumbledore's desk. Their (apparently heated) conversation came to an abrupt halt when Saryn stepped inside. Draco's father gave her a broad, curling smile under his appraising eyes, and Dumbledore rose politely to his feet. Snape cleared his voice and turned to Draco.  
  
"Mister Malfoy, perhaps it would be more prudent if you remained outside until-"  
  
"Nonsense, Severus," came Lucius' dictatorial drawl, leaving no room for argument. "I asked that the boy be summoned so he might provide some...emotional support. He can't very well do so from the other side of the door. Draco," he motioned to a spot by his side, "come in."  
  
Snape reluctantly stepped aside to allow Draco entrance. He took his place beside his father, and instead of the promising, dire, disappointed glare he had expected, his father gave him a delighted smile.  
  
However, neither Snape nor Dumbledore seemed so high spirited. The Headmaster stood behind his desk, gravely surveying the assembly. He seemed none too pleased about the presence of either Malfoy but clearly felt it must be tolerated.  
  
"Thank you, Severus," he said as Snape closed the door and came to stand solemnly opposite Draco's father. Draco noticed Dumbledore's voice lacked its usual melody, and his eyes were devoid of their characteristic twinkle. It made him look old and tired, something Draco surprisingly never considered him to be, despite his obvious age. Draco raised a questioning look at his father, who indicated with a tilt of his head that Draco should pay attention to the proceedings.  
  
"Saryn," Dumbledore offered kindly, "won't you sit down?"  
  
She lowered herself into the proffered chair, obviously more puzzled than even Draco was, and waited expectantly.  
  
"It is my sad duty," Dumbledore continued, "to inform you of the passing of Miss Mariyn Sylvany."  
  
The subtlest change stole over Saryn's countenance. "Passing?" she asked in a weak voice. "Aunt Mary?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded sadly. "She was found this morning in the woods behind her home. Sadly, the cause of this untimely event has not, as of yet, been ascertained."

Saryn sat as if made of stone, her blank expression looked as though carved from white marble. Draco made to move to her side, but his father's hand came down forbiddingly on his shoulder.  
  
"There is something else you should know, Saryn. "

The Headmaster retrieved a long piece of parchment from the top drawer of his desk and handed it to her.  
  
"My enrollment form?" she asked in a soft, slow voice as if in a daze.  
  
"Read it over carefully."  
  
She did this, tracing each line with the tip of her finger. Then suddenly, she stopped mid-page and wrinkled her nose up at Dumbledore. "But this doesn't make any sense."  
  
Draco leaned forward to read the parchment where Saryn's finger rested: **Relationship to Student: Mother   **  
  
"There surely wasn't any question of her guardianship. Why would Aunt Mary feel the need to masquerade as my mother?"  
  
Dumbledore didn't respond, but he looked meaningfully and sympathetically down at her, and the realization slowly dawned on the girl. "You mean...B-but I don't understand," she stammered. " _Why?_ "  
  
"No doubt she had her reasons, though we may not fully understand them. Regardless, I had no choice but to respect her request that I not reveal this to you sooner. Surely she was waiting for the appropriate moment to do so in person. However, since that is no longer a possibility, I thought the time had come for you to know the truth."  
  
"But..." Tears began welling in Saryn's eyes. "If Aunt Mary was my mother, who were the people who raised me? And why did she send me away?" She paused and shook her head in confusion when something else seemed to occur to her, and her eyes grew wide as if horrified by the sudden thought. "What is to become of me? Am I to be sent to an...an _orphanage?_ "

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but Draco's father, taking this as his cue, stepped forward and spoke instead.

"My dear Miss Sylvany, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lucius Malfoy," he announced with a smile more twisted and insincere than any of Draco's. "I must say, as a former governor of this school, I have always been most concerned with the well being of its students. And being an alumni of Slytherin house myself, and also considering your established rapport with my son, I am very sensitive to your situation. As such, I am prepared to extend to you an invitation to reside at Malfoy Manor as my ward, and I would feel quite honored to be allowed to assist you in any way within my power to help you through this difficult time. In fact, room has already been prepared for you in anticipation of the upcoming Holidays."

He actually grinned. He looked almost...triumphant.  
  
"Lucius, might I remind you that the decision rests entirely in Saryn's hands," Dumbledore said pointedly.

The elder Malfoy scoffed. "Decision? Between some second rate orphanage and the luxuries of Malfoy Manor? Come, Albus, do be realistic."  
  
Draco simply gawked, completely aghast, his eyes drifting from his father's smug expression, to Dumbledore's furious one, to Snape's frustrated one. Snape hadn't spoken a word since the meeting began, though it appeared he had plenty to add. Saryn, incredulous and despairing, did the same as Draco.  
  
"So I have no choice?" she said now in a barely audible voice to no one in particular.  
  
"Saryn, you do not have to make this difficult decision right away," the Headmaster assured her. "Take some time to come to terms with your recent loss. You are perfectly welcome to remain here for the holidays--as many other students do--in order to think this over."  
  
"I have no choice." she repeated as though Dumbledore had never spoken. "Because I have lost my mother a second time. Because I am now truly orphaned." Her voice was rising steadily into hysteria, and the paper she still held in her hand began to shake mildly.  
  
"Saryn," Dumbledore insisted, "you _do_ have a choice."  
  
"No," she said shaking her head slowly and looking accusingly at Lucius and then steadily at Draco. "No, I do not. And that was precisely the point of it." She rose then, completely deaf to any continued objection, and stumbled blindly from the room with Draco staring after her in shock.  
  
Was she right?

Of course, she was. Draco knew perfectly well what his father was capable of.

 _The situation is well in hand._  
  
" _Well_ ," his father hissed in his ear, "go after her, you stupid boy!"  
  
As if by some volition other than his own, Draco obeyed, running numbly after Saryn as she tore down the hall. Draco was unable to catch up to her until she stopped, looking as though she might faint, and grasped a carved torch column to steady herself.  
  
"Saryn," he said between ragged breaths. "I-"  
  
She rounded on him, her eyes flaming like one possessed. Without warning, Draco felt himself being lifted into the air by an invisible hand. Saryn hadn't even drawn her wand. Draco collided violently with the stone wall, knocking the breath from him, and was suspended there, looking down at his attacker in undisguised terror.  
  
"You killed her," she said in a low, feral voice Draco would never recognize to belong to the beauty. Saryn pushed herself away from the column and stepped slowly toward where Draco was pinned, clenching and unclenching her hands at her sides while tears rained silently from her murderous eyes. In the torch light, they appeared red, as though she were crying blood. "You killed her so you might have me there at your precious Manor all to yourself. You killed her out of _jealousy_ of that poor, gawky, scarred boy!"  
  
"Saryn...I swear!" Draco managed to say despite the painful constriction of his chest where it seemed the unseen force was concentrated to keep him aloft. "Saryn, I had no idea! I would _never_."

She took a step forward, and the pressure increased.  
  
"I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this!" Draco cried just as he felt he would faint.

She glared at him for a time, and then her look softened. Slowly, Draco felt the pressure on his chest lessen. He came tumbling to the stone floor, taking several coughing breathes, his hand clutching at his injured chest.  
  
"Saryn, please believe me." He was able to speak more freely now and in a much more convincing tone. "I'd much sooner simply put an end to Potter."

She snorted as though she didn't doubt this. But neither did she appear contrite about almost killing him. Saryn turned and headed toward the Slytherin common room without another word to Draco.  
  
"For the love of Merlin," Draco muttered under his breath and struggled to his feet to follow.   
  
Saryn headed straight for her room, leaving the door open for Draco to enter, which he did, closing it behind him.  
  
"Are you ever going to start thinking for yourself?" she started as soon as she heard the latch catch. She turned to Draco. "Or are you going to leave that to your father your entire life?"  
  
" _What?"_  
  
"I know you were instructed to court me. This 'bauble' is from your father, not from you. What do you think I am? A life-sized Barbie doll to be played with? To be dressed up and shown off in your fancy Manor and undressed as you please?!"  
  
"What's a Barbie doll?" Draco asked, but she began looking murderous again, and Draco didn't inquire further. "I don't think you're a plaything," he insisted. "Yes, my father mentioned it would be fortuitous if I won your affections, but do you really think I would have agreed if I wasn't already interested in you?" he demanded. "I'm not some doll, either! It was just convenient that my father supported me. I...I had nothing to do with your aunt," he added more softly, more apologetically. "Father, doesn't let me in on his schemes."  
  
"No, he just has you be a willing pawn in them."  
  
"That 'bauble' isn't just from my father, you know. Here." He reached into his pocket and drew out a long necklace. "The pendant maybe, but he sent it on this clunky, tarnished chain. I bought the one you're wearing myself. I thought something more delicate would suit you." He sneered. "Because you are so _delicate,_ aren't you?" he said sardonically. "I did that of my own free will and expense. But since I am the mindless, inconsiderate, unfeeling pawn you say I am, take it." He threw the chain on her bed. "I don't care what you do with any of it. Toss it in the lake for all I care. And since you have that poor, gawky, scarred boy to hold you, and I'm no use to you, I'll be leaving now."

He stormed from the room.  
  
"Draco, wait!" she called after him, but he wasn't listening. He made for the observatory, having a fairly good idea what he'd find when he got there. 


End file.
